Dark Empress
by DK
Summary: Finished sort of. FFVI Alternate Reality. Take FFVI. Scramble. Serve in chapters.
1. Prologue, Chapter One

**Dark Empress**

**by DK**

**Introduction to Alternate Reality Fanfiction**

Just a few short comments on Alternate Reality fiction before we begin, in case some of you have never been exposed to it before. Alternate Reality fanfiction features the same characters and locations from a game/tv show/other fandom and "twists" them around, giving the genre the nickname "twisted." 

Dark Empress is my ongoing piece of Final Fantasy VI fanfiction, exploring what could happen if events/characters from the game were shifted to produce different results. As such, you may find occasionally that some characters' actions might not quite mesh with those in the game, or neccessarily what your perceptions of those characters might be. This is half the fun; finding those things about your favorites or least favorites that make them different and unique. However, it does sort of pain me to write people "out of character", so for the most part if you see someone acting oddly, there will be a reason for it. 

Finally, I've been working on this for a long time and will probably continue to work on it for a long time. I'm posting parts of this initial version here to get opinions, so any feedback would be appreciated. Enjoy the fic. 

**Prologue**

The cold night wind that howled through the metal canyons of Vector could be clearly heard in Emperor Gestahl's study. The room was dark, its only illumination provided by the flames that dwelt in the large brick fireplace. The Emperor sat quietly, his mind occupied with the heavy matters that running a nation required. 

The burning logs crackled and popped as he gazed into the fire. The aging Emperor shivered a little in the chill air of his study. Grumbling, he got up to add more wood to the fireplace, wondering how the world's most modern building in the world's most modern city could still be so drafty. 

With a solid _thunk_, two more logs landed in the flames. Then, Gestahl turned to make his way back to his overstuffed armchair. Settling back down, he gave a ponderous sigh. He had too little time to relax these days, his life consumed with the war in Doma and terrorist attacks by these so-called There was even talk that anti-Empire movements were springing up in Figaro.... 

Still, he was confident that the Empire would be victorious. How could it fail, with the weight of the new Magitek weaponry added to the mighty army that had made it infamous? The Empire had never faltered in a conquest, never stopped until its opponents were utterly crushed. The incident at Maranda had shown that iron resolve. 

Gestahl snorted. Maranda- what a bunch of fools they had been to think they could resist the Empire. All it had taken was a little fire to convince them otherwise. 

The door to the study opened with a creak, and a shaft of harsh white light stabbed into the dark room. 

Who's there? the Emperor asked, turning on the newcomer. 

She was outlined perfectly in the doorway, her features illuminated by the light that drifted in from the hall. Emerald hair hung down almost to the waist of her suit of black body armor, and equally green eyes glared at him from her porcelain-figurine face. Her appearance was meek, angelic, but something about her disturbed Gestahl. 

Who are you? he asked, noting with some annoyance that his voice was shaking. It seemed ridiculous that he would be afraid now, in his own study, in his own palace, faced with nothing but this girl. 

Emperor Gestahl....... she said, her eyes flashing menacingly. She raised her arm, extending her palm towards him as an aura of red energy flared up around her. 

That was when he recognized her. This was the infant he had captured in the phantom forest. Kefka's little lab animal. 

What are you doing here? he demanded. What is the meaning of this? 

The aura around her brightened, grew more substantial, and the air in the room suddenly became warmer. Gestahl began to panic. There had to be enough time to draw upon his own magic... 

he shrieked. Call her off! Kefkaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh! 

The blast of flame tore from her fingertips, catching his aged body and hurling it across the room. His charred frame hit the wall with a sickening crunch, then fell to the floor. 

Laughing, the one called Terra stepped forward, sending another wave of energy across his crumpled form. Gestahl screamed repeatedly as the fire licked at him, slave to pain and terror. All thoughts of counter magic fled as the agony rushed across his mind. 

The screams stopped. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Terra ceased her attack, then kicked the blackened carcass to make sure he was dead. As the charnel-house smell of scorched flesh filled the room, she turned to look into the fire as Gestahl had only minutes before. The dancing blaze was reflected in her eyes. 

_Fire._

Her friend and her power, the means by which she would fulfill the genetic orders imprinted on her esper soul. The means by which she would control this World of Balance, and all those who dwelt within. 

she whispered, The new empire begins. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

**Chapter One**

_**One month earlier.....**_

Cid cursed the driving rain that slashed through the night. He moved with short, quick strides as he made his way through Vector's trash-strewn streets, shivering as the chill downpour soaked him to the bone. 

Walking around alone in Vector in the _daytime _was dangerous enough; walking around alone at this time of night was virtually begging for a knife in the back. The magitek scientist kept looking around him uncomfortably. The city's streetlights were like oases in a desert of inky blackness, stretched few and far between. The darkness between held a variety of imagined horrors for Cid; thieves, murderers, maybe even a daring monster or two. If only the Imperial Guard monitored the _interior_ of the city as much as they did the gates, he wouldn't have to feel this way- 

Cid sneezed. 

Now, he was probably going to catch his death of cold. He was wet, he was tired, and he sure didn't feel like visiting the Imperial palace right now.... 

But when Kefka called, you didn't dare refuse. 

After what seemed an eternity, Cid at last saw the Imperial Palace looming up ahead. At least the guards at the entrance seemed to recognize him, waterlogged though he was. He was quickly ushered in, and he hurried towards Kefka's private chambers, leaving a trail of water behind him on the palace's plush red carpeting. 

He reached the oak door to Kefka's room and slowly opened it. 

Good evening, Ciddie! Kefka bellowed, causing the meek scientist to jump back, startled. Cid tried his best to restrain a shudder as the freakish man tossed an arm around his shoulders. He only partially succeeded, but Kefka didn't seem to notice. 

Just the man I wanted to talk to, Kefka said grandly. He gestured to a chair. Sit down. 

As Cid plunked down into the chair, the other perched himself on the corner of a bureau. I suppose you're wondering why I called you here? 

Well actually, um, yes, Cid replied, rattled by the very presence of the harlequin-like creature before him. 

I have a small.....request... Kefka said, steepling his fingers under his chin. Another dosage of that magitek infusion serum. You've got it. I want it. 

Cid began, well aware he was walking a razor edge. Another dosage would certainly kill you. And even if there was some way you could survive, Gestahl would never allow- 

Who says our dear, dear emperor even has to know? Kefka feigned sincerity. Your concern is appreciated, Cid, but I don't intend for the serum to be used on _me_. No, no! It's all for my little subject.' My sweet little #039. 

The girl? But she's already half-esper. Magic is a part of her very nature, she doesn't function the same way as us. An infusion could wreak havoc on her body systems, maybe even kill her.... 

Kefka shrugged. That's a chance I'm willing to take. 

Cid was astonished. Every time he thought Kefka couldn't sink any lower, he was inevitably proven wrong. 

But why? What is the point of subjecting her to that? 

The other waved a hand in dismissal. Call it the pursuit of science, Ciddie, I'm sure it will make sense to you then. But I must say your talk alarms me. You speak as if she were a human being. 

Cid stammered. 

Two words, Ciddie, Kefka said slowly and deliberately, as if he were talking to a child, _Magitek Infusion_. 

I refuse! the meek researcher was stunned by the force of his words. I won't do anything without the emperor's permission! 

Oh, but you WILL! Kefka shrieked, then started laughing maniacally as if he had cracked a side-splitting joke. Then, his voice turned icy. You will, Cid, because if you don't I'll cause you pain like you can't even imagine. 

I-I'm n-not afraid of you, Cid's voice was almost a whimper. 

Kefka mused aloud. Celes certainly is very pretty, isn't she? It would really be a _shame_ if something were to happen to her..... 

Suddenly something seemed to snap within Cid. He threw himself to the floor and scrabbled wildly at Kefka's tunic. You wouldn't, you couldn't! A light kick sent him sprawling. 

Wrong on both counts, Ciddie! I'll send someone after her, have her killed in her sleep. Hmmm.... he trailed off for a moment. Perhaps I'll order them to rape her first, just to make it look like an act of random sexual deviancy. Now that I mention it, I might enjoy doing the job mysel- 

_I'll do it_, Cid hissed, simultaneously disgusted by the evil of the man before him and ashamed of his own inability to stand up to him. 

Good choice! Kefka was all smiles again. Do get up off the floor, Ciddie, your wet clothes are making the carpet damp. 

I...I have to go... Cid wheezed, sick with fear and loathing. He stumbled to the door of Kefka's chambers. 

Terribly sorry you have to step out, Kefka said. Oh, and one more thing.... 

the terrified scientist asked, filled with dread. 

I want a good strong batch of serum, just like what you used to infuse me. There's no point in using that watered-down stuff you gave Celes. 

Cid just nodded grimly, a sense of foreboding stealing over him. 

_A good strong batch...._

The first infusion had been too strong, had ultimately driven Kefka insane. And now, the freak wanted him to do it again. 

Would there soon be two Kefkas roaming the world? 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

_**One week earlier**_

Cid wished they wouldn't scream. 

It made concentrating on the extraction process much more difficult, for one thing. For another, the shrieks of pain grated on his ears and tore at his soul, accusatory in their volume and frequency. 

_You're a monster_, they seemed to declare. _You can call Kefka twisted if you want, Cid, but how much better are you? You see how much pain it causes us when you extract the very fabric of our existence, so why don't you stop? _

Why didn't he? 

He was a coward, pure and simple, too weak to refuse Kefka and the Emperor's cruel orders. No matter what the cost to his conscience or soul, the commands were inevitably followed, replete with consuming guilt and sorrow. 

As he adjusted the control dials on his main console, the nearest esper's frantic cries intensified. Cid turned to look at her, pity filling his heart. 

She was one of about two dozen espers held in his Magitek Research Facility's confinement tubes. Her form gave the overall impression of a nude woman, but was strangely smoothed, with no external features save a pair of avian-like eyes. She thrashed violently in the esper tube, repeatedly bashing her indigo fists against the clear sides. 

Her struggles were in vain; though the tube walls looked like ordinarily glass, they were nearly unbreakable. Trapped within them and surrounded by the gyal fluid, she was completely helpless. 

The fluid was Cid's very own creation, perfected just before the espers had been taken from their world. It had the singularly unique effect of dampening any magic powers, even those of the espers. Since such elemental creatures didn't need air, they could stay submerged in the liquid all the time. 

The scientist was also grateful that the gyal helped muffle the outcries of the creatures within. As awful and as heartbreaking as they were now, they would have been unbearable at their full volume. 

Cid took a minute to monitor the readings on the console beside him. The extraction was almost complete, requiring only a little more essence until he would have enough stored to mix up another Magitek infusion. 

The trapped esper glared at him as the liquid bubbled and frothed. Stunning blue motes of color like electric fireflies emerged from her body, swirling briefly in the tank before being sucked into the collection tube at the bottom. 

From the vat's bottom, a long, thin tube extended for some distance before forming a junction with an even larger holding chamber. As Cid gazed into the clear walls of the collection chamber, he could see the tiny particles coalescing, joining with the dazzling multicolored orb of energy that hummed in the center. 

_Esper essence. The stuff dreams- and magic- were made of. _

With a loud buzz, the extraction machines ground to a halt. Cid didn't need to examine the monitors to know the reason; all it took was a single glance at the esper. 

The fight had gone out of her. She slumped against the glass walls, her struggles over, her power exhausted. 

Designate Shiva's essence depleted, the computer reported in a soft, feminine voice. Further extraction impossible. Disposal recommended. 

The scientist ignored the report, not wishing to doom the creature to the garbage bins, an even more pitiful existence than the one she currently suffered. Instead, he walked up to the collection chamber. He swiftly began to type out commands on its small keypad. 

Five minutes later, he had what he needed, a small vial filled with glowing, multicolored liquid that had been siphoned from numerous espers. 

Kefka's request had been honored. 

_Goddesses forgive me for what I am about to do....._Cid thought, turning to leave the Research Facility. As he walked through the rows of tubes, his eyes strayed up to the fanciful creatures within. 

He couldn't help but recall how strong they had once been, how they had once seemed like living legends out of fairytales. Now, they were nothing more than shadows of their former selves, their forms bent and haggard in their prisons. They all seemed utterly drained. 

The only feature that showed any form of life was their eyes. The eyes that always followed his motions, always haunted his dreams. 

_Why do they have to look at me? Why do they have to condemn me?_

He hurried from the lab. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Marvelous, Ciddie! Kefka enthused, pacing the floor of his chamber. Simply Mah-vel-ous! 

He twirled the syringe in the air, gazing raptly into its shifting, multicolored depths. His ruby red lips curled up in a smile as he pressed its point lightly against one of his fingertips. 

Don't you think so, pet? he asked, addressing his question to the green-haired girl that stood beside him. 

The girl nodded blankly, her eyes staring fixedly ahead at nothing at all. Cid shivered involuntarily. Being around her always gave him the creeps. That stiff, robotlike posture, those dull eyes, that motionless face.....it was hard to believe that the small metal slave crown she wore was responsible for all. 

He could not help but feel sorry for the girl. Her day to day life was even more miserable that that of the imprisoned espers. Just being around Kefka for a few minutes was enough to chill him; he couldn't imagine what continuos exposure would do to someone. Perhaps it was best that the crown dulled her thoughts and blunted her emotions. 

Well, enough dilly-dallying, the jesterlike freak said jauntily. With a sudden sharp movement, he jabbed the syringe into her arm, depressing the plunger and emptying the magitek solution into her bloodstream. 

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, she fell, convulsing wildly, screaming as she clawed at the stone floor. Cid stepped back, stunned. These loud outcries were to only sounds he had ever heard her utter. 

She's dying! the researcher yelled. 

Get out, Kefka said. Get out now. 

Cid ran. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

After several minutes, her thrashing slowed, and her screams ceased. She began to breathe more evenly as she returned to normal. Kefka knelt beside her, placing a hand on her forehead. 

A yellow glow flared up around the two of them as he cast the scan spell. As the light trickled through his mind, the state of her body and spirit was laid bare to him. Turmoil was raging through her soul, pain wracked every inch of her body. But she would live. 

And afterwards, she would be stronger than ever. 

She would be his tool, his means of slowly seizing power within the Empire. As long as the slave crown remained on her head, she would be his willing puppet, to strike at any target he wished. 

He began to laugh loudly, clenching his fists in victory as the horrid sound rang throughout the chamber. 

_Today the girl, tomorrow the world! _

_Oh Kefka,_ he chided himself, _Can't you think up something better than THAT old cliché?_

_______________________________________________________________________ 

_I _

_ I am_

_ I am Terra_

_ I am Esper_

_ I am....destroyer_

_______________________________________________________________________ 

_**One Hour Earlier**_

Are we ready for the next test? Kefka asked as he strode into the control booth. 

Whenever you are, the young tech called Grang answered, turning towards the mage. 

Kefka strode over to the booth's glass wall and looked out over the testing chamber. Below, test subject #039 waited impassively, arms at her sides. This would be her first combat testing since the fresh infusion, and Kefka was eager to observe the results. 

He looked back at the two techs that manned the booth's control console. 

Begin the test. 

Whatever you say. Grang and his partner Chess began to throw switches, press buttons, and adjust dials. 

Apertures opened in the walls of the testing chamber. Slowly, dozens of man-shaped drone bots emerged, making their ponderous way towards the girl. She continued to stand there, staring blankly ahead, making no move to ward off the approaching robots. 

Kefka furrowed his brow. This isn't right, he sulked. This isn't right at all. She's just standing there. But perhaps she just needs a little prompt... apply the Motivator. 

Yes sir, Chess said grimly, twisting a small red dial. 

The girl lurched as the increased surge of power ran through her body, but otherwise she remained motionless. 

Hit her again, Kefka ordered. More power. 

Again, her lithe form was wracked by a blast of raw energy, the charge cruelly delivered by the slave crown. Kefka thought for a moment that he saw sparks fly from her mouth. Still, she did not respond to the threat of the drones. 

Maximum intensity, the clownish man snapped. 

But Kefka, Chess began. That kind of charge could cause permanent brain damage, maybe even- 

Shut up! Grang hissed. Do you feel like dying today? I sure as hell don't. Now do what he says. 

Reluctantly, Chess turned the knob as far to the right as it would go. Below, the girl grimaced as another jolt stabbed through her delicate form. Sparks like fireflies were flying from the slave crown now, throwing sporadic flashes of light across the testing chamber. 

The test subject raised her arms, took a few short, tentative steps. 

It's working! Kefka screeched. Even the best chocobo needs a good prodding now and then! Uweheheheheeheheheheheehee! 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

She was floating in a haze, her mind filled with contradictions and uncertainties. She was mired in a swamp of utter confusion, her thoughts muddled and twisted beyond belief. 

Somehow, she could still grasp faint memories out of the mist. Her name. Her name was Terra. That she knew. 

She was also aware of the esper blood that sang in her veins, the power that she possessed. There was a reason she was this way, she recalled, if only she could remember... 

Yet these were the only things she was left with. As the blast from the slave crown tore into her mind, it broke apart her fragile memories, stripping them away, leaving her with nothing but her name, her hate, and the most rudimentary of her esper instincts. 

The instinct to kill. The instinct to destroy. 

The fresh infusion of magitek only complicated the process, making things even harder to grasp and understand. As she dimly felt the pain wracking her body, she could sense the effects of the infusion in her blood, the raw power that was about to be unleashed. 

Even as the thought faded away, she lashed out, sending her fire into the approaching drones, burning them and knocking them back. Within seconds, they were all smoking hunks of molten metal. 

The slave crown tumbled from her head, its circuits fried. It clashed loudly against the floor as she turned to look up at the glass-walled control booth. 

Oh, some of her memories might be gone, but she remembered The Controller. She was painfully aware of the mental and physical abuse he had caused her. And the newfound energy that flowed within her made her powerful enough to return it in kind. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Grang shrieked in panic The slave crown has gone offline. It's not respond- 

His words were cut off by the explosion that tore through the room. 

Kefka dove to the floor as the control booth's glass wall shattered, spraying hundreds of shards like deadly missiles. He felt intense pain across his back as flames licked at first his clothes and then his exposed flesh. He could see nothing but a blinding orange light, hear nothing but the whoosh of the flame and the screams of the two techs. 

When the fire finally died down, Kefka raised his head and gazed around him. The booth was in shambles, the wall now nothing but a ragged hole. The two techs had died rather messily; broiled by the savage heat and impaled by slivers of flying glass. 

Kefka stumbled to his feet, wheezing. For the first time he could remember since that first hellish night after his infusion, he felt real fear. The girl was out of control, his plan had backfired. 

But that didn't matter now. All that mattered was getting out of this hell hole alive. 

It was waiting when he turned towards the door. 

But though the figure was unmistakably his test subject, she sure as hell had never looked like this before. Her entire frame thrummed with pale light; pinkish tendrils of pure energy wreathed her body, twisting like living things. The pair of inky black eyes that gazed malevolently at him were immeasurably deep. 

Gradually, Kefka became aware that he had fallen to the ground again and was scooting backwards in a rather undignified manner. He let out a little squeal as his back touched the booth's far wall. 

_Get a hold of yourself!_ His mind shrilled. _You're acting like a child!_

Stay away, he hissed in intermingled pain and fear. 

the creature entoned with an oddly low voice. 

He narrowed his eyes. In time, she could have been a valuable tool, but now she had far outlived her usefulness. It was really a shame to destroy such a charming specimen, but it was the only way to ensure his safety. Kefka clenched his fists, concentrating on the reserves of magic stored within his body. 

He jumped to a standing position, his entire body glowing slightly as he primed his attack. With a yell, Kefka drew his arms in toward his body and suddenly threw them out. Hundreds of sharp ice shards flew from his fingertips, striking the thing that had once been the girl. 

The creature was thrown against the far wall by the force of the attack. It fell to the floor, stunned. Kefka pressed the advantage, pouring on more power as he advanced. The specimen began to shriek as a sheet of ice climbed up its form, dampening its power and imprisoning its limbs. 

Seconds later, the mage stopped to admire his handiwork. The esper was trapped within a chunk of ice, held as motionless as a fly in amber. It was quite harmless now. Kefka lowered his head a bit, breathing heavily. Of course he had been victorious, as he had always been, but this battle had taken a lot out of him. His reserves were dangerously low. Soon, he would take time to rest and recuperate, but for now it was simply enough to gloat. 

He felt the slight shimmer in the air before it happened, but had no time to act. One moment, he was standing beside the snared esper, the next, he was flying through the air. 

Kefka hit the wall with a painful crunch, sliding to the floor as blackened chunks of ice rained down around him. He realized with a start that he could no longer feel his legs. An icy coldness that was worse than any pain could ever be stole over his lower half. 

Now the creature was before him, lifting him to his feet with a single hand. Its dark eyes burned into his. Feebly, he tried to strike out at it, but his wrist was easily ensnared by the creature's other hand. Kefka felt its grip tighten, heard the dry crackle of snapping bones. 

Finally, his mind accepted what his body had been telling him for some time; he was going to die. There was no way to avoid it, no way to deviously trick his opponents as he had so often before. Unless...... 

he begged. 

the esper said, in a low, even voice. You dare ask for mercy? Did you grant me mercy when you performed your experiments' on me? Did you grant me mercy when my mind cried helplessly beneath the slave crown as you ravaged my body and my soul? 

Kefka's swiftly fading senses of magical perception told him that she was gathering her energy again. Finally facing death, he lost what wisps of sanity he had left. Thrashing wildly, he began to laugh and scream at the same time. 

Mercy! Mercy! Uweheheheheheeheheheheheheehe hahahhahaa No! ahahaha- 

The esper called Terra cut through his babble with a single word. 

__

The fire surged into his body, eating away as he screamed in pain. In only moments, the cleansing flame had devoured his flesh and sinew, reducing him to nothing more than a pile of charred bones. 

Terra turned to leave, her newly awakened instincts taking control. The magic that sang through her veins flared up as she probed her surroundings. The old one, the emperor, was close by. Once he was eliminated.... 

Smiling wickedly, she moved to secure her place in this lush World of Balance. 


	2. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two**

What the hell is this? The voice cut through the darkened cavern. 

It appears that your torch went out, replied a second voice with just a hint of a laugh. 

That's not what I'm talking about! the first sounded again. Someone light another torch. 

All right, all right, just let me get my flint. 

A handful of sparks flashed into existence. A few seconds later, the torch ignited, illuminating the roughly hewn rock room and revealing the three men within. They wore green and red uniforms that were stained with dust and rock fragments. 

Sign on with the Returners, fight the empire, the owner of the second voice joked. The recruitment speech sure didn't say anything about spending your days expanding Returner HQ. 

I don't feel like a rebel, said the third man, who had not spoken before. I feel like a miner. 

Don't be ridiculous, the second man laughed. We're nothing like miners! You see, _they_ get paid. He turned to slap the first man on the back, only to stop short when he saw the other's blank stare. 

They all followed his gaze, casting their eyes toward the rear of the chamber. 

Though they had only been working at carving out additional space in Returner HQ for a short time, each of the three had gained a basic knowledge of mining, both through experience and instruction. It was a simple matter, then, for them to comprehend that the space behind the chamber's rear wall was hollow. This had caused the wall to collapse when the first miner had tried to dig there, the collapse had in turn extinguished the torch. 

What they couldn't comprehend, couldn't begin to understand, was what exactly the object they had uncovered actually was. 

It appeared to be a statue, but all the men felt that to even think of it as such would be terribly inaccurate. It looked like a statue, yes, but it was clearly so much more. 

The beauty of the object was almost overwhelming. It was elegant in design, a straight column that rose about five feet in the air. Two perfectly sculpted dragons wound about the full length of the column, the tips of their tails intertwining at the base, their heads facing in opposite directions at the apex. The statue's silvery surface flashed suddenly, then began to throb with power, throwing off tiny bursts of light. 

Wh-What is it? one of the Returners asked incredulously. 

I don't know, said another, but we had better tell Banon about this. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

In Doma, it was raining again. 

General Leo turned up the collar of his uniform to better shield himself from the chilly drizzle as he strode out of his tent and into the Imperial encampment. Slowly and purposely, he wound his way past tents and smoldering watch fires towards the front. 

Around him, the Imperial army was waking up. Brown clad soldiers emerged from the tent beside him, yawning in the misty dawn light. They all seemed so young, nothing more than fresh-faced kids. Some of them probably didn't even shave yet. 

Leo shook his head slowly. It always pained him to look upon the new recruits. How many would die today, crushed into powder by the monster that was war? Worse, how many would survive, only to be burdened with horrible mental and physical scars for life? 

They were his men, under his command. Their lives were in his hands, and if he should make a foolish mistake and loosen his grip, they would die. 

Leo heaved a sigh. Such was the burden of command. 

The dewy grass was springy under his boots as he continued on through the camp, his mind mulling over his orders and his objectives. The siege of Doma had been uneventful up to this point, but today the major offensive on the castle was to begin. After weeks of waiting, the raw Imperial strength that was Magitek was finally being thrown into the fray. 

Unfortunately, the damned Returners had somehow managed to sink several Imperial cargo ships on the way to the Northern Continent. Instead of the two score suits of Magitek armor he had expected, Leo was left with only half that number. 

_Twenty suits_, Leo thought ruefully, _Useless now._ Briefly, he wondered if the rebels could even comprehend how much damage they had caused. 

Still, the twenty suits he did have, along with his modified officer's armor, would be more than enough to get the job done, provided he managed the attack carefully. It was a job easier said than done, however, given the legendary skill and determination of the Doman samurai. 

The general looked up from his musings and found that he had reached his destination. He was at the very front of the army now. To one side were the Magitek Weapons themselves, resting under a large canvas canopy as they were busily tended by a team of mechanics. 

General Leo! 

He turned towards the voice and found himself facing a young man in the green garb of an Imperial sergeant. The man fidgeted nervously as Leo regarded him. 

We've had a deserter. Corporal Landley was heard voicing his objections to attacking Doma sometime late last night, and he's nowhere to be found this morning. 

Leo furrowed his brow. 

Send a search party out immediately, but make sure that they are given orders not to harm him in any way. 

But sir, the sergeant protested. You know the Imperial doctrine condemns deserters as nothing more than cowards! Are you really going to let him go unpunished? 

Of course not, came the terse reply. However, his punishment is for the War Court in Vector to decide. It is not the job of you or your men. Therefore, upon capture you will bring him to the stockade, where he will wait until such a time that he can be properly disciplined. 

Yes sir, the sergeant said reluctantly. 

He had better be brought in unharmed, the general warned, For your sake as much as his. 

Understood, sir. The green clad man hurried off. 

Leo rubbed his chin thoughtfully. It wasn't unusual for the younger recruits to lose heart and become frightened, especially against such a formidable enemy as Doma. He was feeling a little anxious himself. Not since the early days of the War of Imperial Succession had he found himself up against such a dangerous opponent. 

Still, he supposed he had an easier job ahead of him than General Chere. She had been placed in charge of the assault on South Figaro, which would be a difficult challenge, indeed. Victory would be costly, if not impossible. 

For a moment, Leo felt a stab of regret at his Empire's betrayal of Edgar Figaro, but he quickly stifled it. His job was not to dictate Imperial policy, nor to judge it. His job was simply to obey. 

With that thought utmost in his mind, he hurried to make preparations for the attack. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

When will it be, do you think? the guard asked, a slight tremor in his voice. 

Not long, Cyan Garamonde answered darkly, letting his eyes drift across the meadow to the line of Imperial tents that clustered there like foul toadstools. From the height of Doma Castle's walls, they looked so harmless. At a distance, it was hard to believe that they harbored an enemy that could bring a savage end to Doma's grand history. 

The ramparts of Doma Castle bustled with activity, defenders moving hurriedly back and forth as they performed their various tasks. Cyan stood among them, completely motionless as he contemplated the onrushing battle. Yet, even standing here in the midst of a coming war, he couldn't help but let his thoughts drift. 

_Elayne.....Owain...._

He could only hope they, and the other people of Doma, would be safe. After all the months of whispers and rumors, the Empire had finally arrived. Come to crush the nation of Doma, just as they had broken the cities of the Southern Continent. It was his responsibility, along with the other samurai, to make sure Doma didn't meet the same end as the other city-states. 

It was a task far easier said than done. The enemy possessed Magitek weapons in abundance, along with the knowledge to use them effectively. In a straight battle, the Imperials would smash the Domans easily. Fortunately, the samurai had a little surprise cooked up for General Leo... 

Despite the situation, Cyan found a smile spreading across his face. 

The voice pealed out loudly, and a few seconds later a dozen soldiers appeared on the ramparts, sweating under their joint burden. They struggled to hold their cargo aloft as they moved into position, each knowing the penalty they would face if it were to be damaged. 

It had been next to impossible for Edgar Figaro's engineers to slip the Anti-Magitek cannon through Imperial lines, but after several close calls, the weapon had finally been smuggled within the castle. The cannon was immensely valuable; at the moment, it was the only thing in Doma Castle that could actually hurt the Imperial M-Tek Armor head on. Furthermore, with the pressure that was now being applied to South Figaro, it wasn't very likely that another such weapon would be making its way to Doma any time soon. 

Cyan turned away as the soldiers eased the cannon down to the stone of the battlements and began to secure it in place. As thankful as he was to Figaro for the gift, he had no great faith in machines. If Doma was to survive the day, it would be through the strength of its loyal soldiers, not the aid of some experimental toy. 

He had wished to be with the men on the front lines, but the king had requested that he stay behind to supervise the defense on the wall. Cyan had realized that such an order was well-intentioned and had obeyed it with no hesitation, but that could not quell his desire to be on the forefront of the battle. Age had been kind to him, and though he was now more than fifty years old, he was twice as fit as most men half his age. His place was at the front lines, not at the very rear of the battle. 

The harsh mechanical shriek of M-Tek reactors coming online tore through the air, sounding Doma's death knell. It was a sound that no one who had faced Imperial guns before could ever forget. 

It was the sound of hell given voice. 

The crew that manned the cannon hurried to set it in place, scurrying madly to and fro as they prepped it for combat. Cyan looked out over the meadow forlornly. 

Such a serene place it had always been. A gentle place for children to run and play, for young couples to sit in solitude. In seconds, it would be turned into a killing ground. 

The massive metal titans across the meadow began to move. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

General Leo rapped out orders as he strode down the line of Magitek Armored troops. His eyes traveled up and down their powerful forms as he walked. Four of the light scouts, standing fifteen feet tall and looking ludicrously like headless ostriches with their spherical cockpits and reverse-articulated legs. Next, sixteen standard issue suits, roughly human in shape but with long arms and a powerful torso. The pilots of these sat exposed to air, and took the time to snap off a quick salute as the general walked by. 

Lastly, there was his own suit of Gigas-class Officer's armor, reminiscent of a huge mechanical dragon. It leaned forward on stubby legs, its jet black surface gleaming in the sun, its hideous front like a twisted face. Two gangly claw-tipped arms extended from the sides, completing its psychologically terrifying form. 

With a grim smile, Leo clambered up into the titan, sliding into the cockpit with practiced ease. He reached out with both hands, busily throwing switches and pressing buttons as he prepped the suit for combat. The entire craft began to thrum as he brought the M-Tek core online. A transparent protective canopy descended around him, locking into place with a hiss, and a few seconds later a series of high beeps signaled the activation of his controls. Leo donned his headset and tested the headphone and transmitting microphone. Both were in fine working order, as he had expected. The technicians attached to his army were some of the best in the Empire. 

As he completed the final checks, Leo let his eyes drift across the meadow, surveying it as he went over the battle plan. The approach to Doma was as straightforward as you could get, the only thing separating the two armies being a stretch of grasslands bordered to either side by thick forest. The forest could have presented a difficulty, had the samurai actually bothered to take up positions there. But no Doman had shown their face outside of the castle since the arrival of the Imperials, and those forests had been swept a hundred times since then, effectively ruling out any possibility of ambush. 

The plan, in essence, was simple. The four scouts would fan out and advance first, followed by the other M-Tek units. Any resistance met would be quickly smashed, and once the castle was reached they would use their superior firepower to sweep the walls clean of defenders and force their way in. 

Leo hoped it wouldn't come to that. He respected these Domans for their courage, but surely by now they could see that resisting the Empire was futile. If only they would agree to be drawn under Gestahl's wing, this bloodshed could be avoided. Perhaps the mere show of Magitek power would work. It had worked often enough before. 

Despite his overall confidence, however, Leo couldn't help but feel a certain doubt. Had all the legends about the skill and resourcefulness of the Doman samurai been nothing more than fiction? They had certainly failed to show much skill so far. 

General Leo, this is Commander Grant, came the tinny voice through Leo's headphones. All units report ready status. The assault may commence on your orders. 

The rain had stopped minutes before, and as the sun came out from behind a cloud, the moisture on the springy grass gleamed brightly. Leo's eyes flickered briefly down to his vidscreen, where he could clearly see an image of Grant provided by the man's cockpit camera. Grant gave a sharp salute, indicating his readiness. 

All troops, move out in V formation, Leo ordered. 

As one, the M-Tek suits lumbered forward, the faster scouts soon outdistancing their slower brethren. Leo advanced steadily in the center of the pack, his eyes narrowed in concentration. Only the sounds of pumping hydraulics cut through the silence of the afternoon. 

The scouts had reached the approximate center of the meadow now, the main formation lagging behind. Later, Leo would recall that it was at this moment that his battle plan first began to go to hell. 

Suddenly, there were samurai. The manner of their almost magical appearance in the center of the meadow was a mystery, but the reason for it was unmistakable. Yelling the battle cries of their homeland, they threw themselves upon the nearest scout, katanas slashing wildly at its metal legs. 

A second later, the scout was down, its hydraulic cables shredded by the razor sharp blades. The samurai swarmed about the cockpit entrance, and a moment later a loud scream sounded in Leo's headphones. He clenched his teeth in anger and frustration. 

_One suit down already...._

While two of the remaining scouts continued on toward the castle, the other paused to engage the samurai. A loud whine split the air as it opened up with its single M-Tek cannon, sending a spray of beams into the advancing samurai. The Domans screamed as hot lances of blue fire tore through their bodies. 

But the victory was short-lived. The samurai were simply too numerous for it to suppress with its single cannon. They charged head on, and though many were cut down by the M-Tek beams, more than enough made their way underneath the Imperial mech. 

It died much the same as the first. 

Now, the main formation of heavy suits was in striking range. Leo felt a strange sense of grim satisfaction as he gave the order to fire. The Domans would pay for the young Imperials they had snuffed out. 

_An eye for an eye.... _His hands danced across the controls. 

_A tooth for a tooth._ He depressed the firing trigger. 

Massive gouts of magical flame spewed from the front of Leo's armor, turning the grasslands around him into an inferno. Samurai screamed as the flame danced over their bodies, feasting upon their flesh as if it were starving. They fell to the ground, their minds overloaded by pain and fear. 

The other Magitek troopers also met with great success. Striking with fire, ice, and bolt beams, they forced the Domans back, tearing their ranks to pieces with superior weaponry. For a moment, it seemed as if the battle would become a rout. 

General Leo, General Leo! the Imperial General looked down at his cockpit vidscreen to see Commander Grant's face. It seemed unusually pale. 

They're coming out of the woods, sir! More samurai, and Returners... Shit! They've got autocro-AAAAAAAGGGH! The image turned red as Grant's own blood splattered across his cockpit camera. For a split second, Leo saw Grant reel backwards, a crossbow bolt buried in his eye. Then, the image dissolved into static. 

Damn it, Leo snarled, furiously tapping the keys on the control board before him. All Squad Leaders, report. 

They're everywhere! 

Tearing into our flanks- 

Too many-aggh! 

Angrily, Leo turned his Gigas suit to face the attackers. Hordes of samurai were pouring from the forests on either side of the meadow while Returners fired autocrossbow salvos from the treetops. 

Fearlessly, samurai approached to point blank range to throw their weapons at the M-Tek pilots. The Imperials returned fire, raking the attackers with raw elemental force. Domans were brought down in scores, Returners fell dead from scorched treetops, but still the enemies came on, maddened beyond belief by the desire to defeat the Imperials. 

Then, the cannon atop Doma's wall opened up. One of the still-advancing scouts flew backwards, its cockpit pierced by an incredibly dense metal slug. The spherical structure atop the legs collapsed, bursting into a messy fireball. 

Leo swore again. The scout crashed to the earth in flaming chunks as he watched. Clenching his fists, he yelled into his headset, 

Stay in formation! Provide supporting fire! 

The fighting waxed savagely as even more foes charged from the trees. Those Imperials on the western flank of the assault force had marshaled themselves into a respectable defensive position and were holding their own. The eastern flank, however, was threatening to collapse completely. The formation had been broken there, and the suits were isolated from each other, making them more vulnerable than ever to the mobile defenders. Even as Leo guided his suit over to lend a hand, he saw another collapse, its pilot pierced by a thrown katana. 

He threw himself into the very heart of the fighting, hoping his presence alone would lend confidence to his faltering troops. As Domans surrounded him on all sides, he slipped into an almost zen state, focusing his entire mind on the battle at hand. 

It was as if he had suddenly become separated from his body. Although Leo was vaguely aware that it was he who was yelling orders, he who was frantically firing away, he who was burning down dozens of Domans and Returners, he felt a curious sense of detachment. The clanging of katanas on his suit's armor was soon accompanied by the clash of autocrossbow bolts ricocheting off his protective canopy, but he was barely aware of it. It could have been the rain pattering on the roof of the Imperial Palace. 

With the arrival of their general, the Imperials gained new vigor. They began to regain the offensive, forcing their attackers back. The samurai, realizing that Leo was the heart and soul of the attacking army, sought to bring him down. Dozens rushed him from every direction. 

Furrowing his brow in careful concentration, Leo flicked a pair of switches, then depressed his firing trigger, launching every single Tekmissile his craft possessed. Like a swarm of hornets, they boiled from their launch tubes, snaking towards the approaching men. The resulting explosion was more than enough to break the counter attack and send the survivors scurrying for cover. Dead samurai littered the ground like fallen leaves, some of their bodies still burning as the smoke cleared. 

Even as the smoke wafted away from the corpses, the haze of battle wafted from Leo's mind. He felt a pang of regret. Brave men, these Domans, to face Magitek weapons head on. If only they could have been fighting on the same side. Shoving aside the troublesome thought, Leo turned once again to his monitors. The heart of a battlefield was hardly a place to philosophize. 

A quick look informed him that the forces on the western wing had also managed to beat back the attackers. Gathering what Imperials that remained about him, Leo continued the advance. 

_It is not over yet..._. he thought fiercely. 

_Not by a long shot._

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Atop the walls of Doma Castle, the samurai hastily moved into defensive positions, readying themselves for the coming Magitek onslaught. Even as Cyan tested the edge of his katana, the Anti-Magitek cannon spoke again. The last scout went down, its spherical cockpit bursting like a ripe tomato. 

Another cheer went through the air, and Cyan began to realize that the defenders believed that they had a chance now. Certainly, the losses incurred in the strike force had been great, but they had greatly stalled and damaged the Magitek advance. 

_At any rate_, Cyan thought, _I am thankful that our ancestors possessed the presence of mind to construct those secret tunnels. _It was these hidden pathways that branched out from Doma's dungeon that allowed the samurai and Returners to appear so suddenly, and so savagely. 

We are running out of ammo! one of the men tending the cannon shouted, the ragged fear in his voice clear even in the turmoil of battle. 

The heavier Magitek suits had moved into striking range by now. They opened up, beam weapons spewing death in multicolored fury. The defenders atop the wall threw themselves down as the beams impacted, sweeping across the battlements and wreaking chaos beyond imagining. 

Cyan gave a grunt as he dove out of the way of a blue colored beam, the rough impact of armor on stone driving his breath from him. Still, better a little pain than utter destruction. He was aware that the spot where he had been standing just moments before was now being supercooled. Even through his armor, he felt the fringes of the attack sweeping across the back, Death's cold fingers carressing him. A thin layer of frost began to form in his hair, on the back of his neck, across his armor. 

Then, just as suddenly as it had begun, the ice beam was gone. Cyan grabbed the battlements and hauled himself up to a standing position, gaping as chunk of stone broke off in his hand. The ice spell had rendered this small section of the wall as brittle as glass. He was lucky that the only ill effects he had suffered from the attack were the tiny rivulets of melting ice that ran down his back. 

Clearing his head, Cyan surveyed the area, his heart sinking. The defenders atop the wall had been devastated in the elemental onslaught, some caught by the dancing electrical beams, some reduced to charred ruin by magical fire, and some - the worst to Cyan - frozen into living sculptures of agony, their dying screams trapped perfectly beneath a layer of ice. Many more had been wounded, their shrill screams tore through the air as they held shattered limbs. The battlements themselves were pocked and scarred, some places frozen solid, others covered with black scorch marks, others reduced to rubble. At least the Imperials hadn't fired again yet; perhaps the great distance had temporarily drained their weapons, perhaps General Leo had decided to be merciful. Perhaps they were just having fun, toying with their helpless opponents as a Veldt cat toyed with a crippled Chocobo before ripping it to pieces. 

In any case, their hesitation appeared to matter little. The damage was already done. The painstakingly drawn defensive formations had been shattered almost carelessly. The walls that had stood for hundreds of years were falling apart at the first Imperial strike. It seemed as if the battle plan were unravelling, coming apart in useless, ragged tatters. And it seemed that there was nothing any of the Domans could do to stop it. 

It was the gleam of metal amid the rubble that caught Cyan's eye. Smooth, unmarked metal, machine-worked. Figarian. Breaking into a run, the aging warrior raced along the walltop, leaping over the dead forms of former comrades and trying desperately not to look at them. 

The cannon! he cried as loudly as possible. To your posts, samurai! 

Men who were not too wounded to stand moved towards him, still trying to shake off the shock of the initial attack. They threw themselves upon the pile of rubble, digging with swords, shields, and bare hands. Through the sheer strength of desperation, they managed to clear away the broken hunks of stone, revealing the form of the cannon. It was battered and dented, but at least it was all still in one piece. Quickly, they gathered on one side, lifting it back into an upright position. 

Do any of you know how this... this _machine_ works? Cyan said, pronouncing the word with a tone that was part wonder, part contempt. 

I do, Sir Cyan, a young samurai spoke up from the rear of the crowd. Cyan noticed with a wince that his left arm had been broken in the attack and was hanging at a grossly unnatural angle. I was one of the crew that the Returners taught to operate the cannon... but with my arm like this, there is no way that I can aim it. 

And your companions? 

Dead, sir, the other reported grimly. We suffered a direct hit. Despite my injuries, it seems I was lucky. 

Cyan heaved a sigh. Is there any among you who thinks he canst operate this weapon? 

There were a few heartbeats of silence, then someone spoke up. 

None we trust more than you, Sir Cyan. 

With a curt nod, Cyan moved to stand by the unearthed Anti-Magitek weapon. He had always hated machines - loud, noisy, ungainly things that violated nature, that didn't belong in this world. He was sure he would always hate them. At the moment, however, they were all desperate for someone, anyone, to step in and try to save the day. He could not deny his comrades that hope, no matter what his personal feelings. 

Simply stand behind the cannon here, the young samurai said, pointing at a spot on the ground. And look through the scope there. 

Cyan stepped behind the massive weapon, standing rather unsteadily. Squinting one eye, he put the other to the so-called Instantly the distant figures advancing across the meadow seemed to leap up at him, the world gaining astonishing clarity. He could even make out the faces of the approaching M-Tek troopers. Twin black lines ran across his vision, one vertical, one horizontal. They divided the view before him into four equal quarters. 

Now, put your hands on the firing mechanism, but _do not_ press the triggers. 

Cyan looked away from the scope for only a moment to fasten his hands around a pair of L-shaped bars that extended from the body of the cannon. Each bore an identical red button right under the place where his thumb rested. 

All right, Sir Cyan, the voice continued, shaking now in nervousness. If you will just move your arms, you can control the direction that the cannon aims. All you have to do is put the object you want to hit in the center of the scope and press the firing buttons. There was a long pause. There is only one shot left. You had best make it count. 

Looking back into the scope, Cyan tentatively swiveled the cannon to the left, then to the right. The image of the advancing Imperials blurred and then reformed. 

_Make it count, eh? There is only one logical target, then. Cut off the head, and the snake will die._

Stilling the shaking of his hands by an act of sheer will, the samurai carefully adjusted the position of the cannon as best as he knew how, not stopping until the place where the two lines met rested almost directly over the center of the advancing officer's armor, right where the hellish creature's heart would be, if it were a thing of flesh and blood. 

General Leo seemed an honorable man for an Imperial, but there could be no hesitation. His homeland was at stake. 

Setting his teeth, Cyan pressed the firing buttons. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

The metal titans thundered onward towards the shattered castle. 

Even at extreme range, the initial Magitek volley had done surprising damage. The great wall of Doma castle was scorched and burned, riddled with deep craters and patches of ice. In places, it seemed ready to collapse altogether. 

After seeing the initial damage, Leo had ordered his men to hold their fire until he gave further orders. He had already done grievous damage to the defenders and the structure of the castle. Another such attack could bring the walls down entirely, resulting not only in the death of all the defenders, but in the death of civilians within the castle as well. Leo wanted to prevent as much carnage as he could, especially when it involved innocents. 

Perhaps these Domans would see reason, would surrender. He and his men had already killed so many today that he felt sick at heart. This wasn't war, it was slaughter. And he was in command. He should end this, end it in any way possible, so that no more Imperials or Domans died today. 

_No!_ He crushed the thought mercilessly. _I swore to serve the Emperor. I will follow his orders._

Even if those orders meant employing Magitek against opponents who fought with swords? At least they no longer tried to attack his forces head on, and apparently that damned cannon of theirs had been silenced in the attack. They would see the impossibility of their position and yield. They had to. 

The sleek barrel of the Anti-Magitek cannon appeared above the rim of the battlements as a group of Domans pushed it upright again. Even from this distance, Leo could pick out signs of damage on the weapon. It probably wasn't even operational anymore. 

_Are you going to take that chance, Leo? Are you going to risk your men's lives because of a hunch?_

the voice crackled over his headphones. That cannon might still be operational. Even at this range, it'll tear us apart. Permission to open fire? ... Sir? .... Sir? 

Visions of shattered Magitek armor drifted through Leo's mind, images of young Imperials bleeding their lives away as they lay trapped in a cage of mangled metal. Yet even as the order to fire was on his lips, the inner panorama shifted to an image of shattered masonry. Children burned and buried in the rubble. Women screaming as the blood ran into their eyes. 

_Maranda. Damn it, it'll be just like Maranda._

The only thing to do was try to take that cannon out with a surgical strike. Perhaps his suit's M-Tek beam could- 

The world exploded. 

All the instruments on Leo's control panel seemed to flare at once and the console leapt towards his face, the metal warping, dials twisting and popping free. Glass display screens shattered, spraying him with hundreds of glistening shards. They caused little pinpricks of pain as they embedded themselves in his exposed skin, but his mind barely had time to register that sensation before even more overwhelmed him. 

The cockpit seemed to be reshaping itself. His earphones gave one last, earsplitting squeal before going silent. Vaguely, he became aware that he was tumbling, the suit rolling backwards. Sparks began to rain from shattered cables around him. A jagged shard of metal tore free and embedded itself in his leg. Likely only seconds had passed, but time seemed to stretch and distort itself, stretching out interminably towards some distant horizon. Every spark seemed to linger in the air like a firefly, every shard of flying glass frozen in its light. 

The suit seemed to be rolling to a stop now, but there was something new. Behind and below him, he could feel a series of rumbles starting to shake the frame of the suit. Somewhere in the distant reaches of his mind, a thought worked its way free and ran across his mind. 

_The ordinance must've been set off by the shot... _

Shot... He'd been shot! The cannon must've opened fire just before he could do so himself. Ironic, that he'd been worried about saving Imperial and Doman lives when it seemed that his own was the one at risk. 

Then a final, violent concussion shook the suit, sending a stitch of fiery pain across his back. As he faded towards unconsciousness, faces and images flashed before him - General Celes, the burning landscape of Maranda, the emperor standing before a field of Magitek armor on the move. The face of the girl, Kefka's test subject, rose towards the surface of his consciousness, her eyes somehow blank and accusing at the same time. He felt his heart beat more furiously. _Why do you let him do those things to me?_ she seemed to scream at him, but her expression did not alter. _Why?_

He struggled to speak, to explain his actions. 

B-because the Emperor commands - ughh... 

Darkness. 

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Yeah, I realize Cyan is missing his distinctive "Olde English"ness. Then again, I wasn't sure I could write it correctly, so I was left with the choice of leaving it out or putting it in and sounding lame. So it's out. 


	3. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three**

The battle was over. 

The sun kissed the horizon, sending out rays of pinkish light as it sank below the low hills of Doma. Where that light struck the brooding clouds above, it turned them the bright, reddish color of fresh blood, mirroring the state of the ground below. In only minutes, the gentle folds of night's robe would conceal the gruesome results of the day's battle, but for now they were all too grimly highlighted. 

In the waning light, the great bulk of stone that was Doma Castle brooded over a rutted meadow full of shattered forms, both human and mechanical. They lay where they had fallen, friend and enemy alike entwined in the embrace of death. Carrion birds flocked over the remains of dead samurai, cawing loudly as they picked at the tender flesh beneath broken armor. Disabled Magitek wreckage and strewn katanas gleamed dully. The gutted Gigas suit dominated the scene, reduced as it was now to little more than scrap. The hellish landscape gave the impression of a surreal painting; fine art in the form of ravaged bodies, elegance in Death. 

Locke Cole gave a sigh as he brought the telescope away from his eye and sat down heavily in the forest undergrowth. The Doman and Returner forces had obviously had a rough time of it today, but at least they still held the castle. How, he didn't know, but hopefully they could continue to do so for at least a little longer. Long enough for the Returners and the troops of Figaro to reinforce their positions and drive the Empire off of the Northern Continent. 

Edgar Figaro was officially an ally of the Empire, but he drew the line at allowing the Imperial Army to rampage across the continent unchecked. He would have already committed forces here but for bureaucratic entanglements with a number of local nobles who perhaps saw the Imperials as their ticket to seizing more power. Jockeying for position with the difficult nobles forced Edgar to keep his support of the resistance discreet. As it was, the Returners would have to suffice, backed as they were by Figarian weaponry. 

Locke heard the whistle of a bluefinch from behind him and turned sharply, instinctively, scooping his weapon into his hands as he did so. 

I told you not to surprise me like that, Duane, Locke said with irritation as he found himself faced with the young Returner scout. I could've taken your head off. He gestured to the bulky autocrossbow he was holding meaningfully. 

Don't you remember the signal we worked out at Headquarters? The young Moblizian asked as he tousled his brown hair, apparently not fazed at all by the realization that he had almost perished. When a scout is returning to the observation post, he gives the call of the b- 

I remember, Duane. But I think the point of having a signal was so the observation post could know you were coming before you got close enough for them to riddle you with arrows. Locke paused for a second, setting his weapon aside and twirling the telescope idly in his gloved hands. So, what's the word from Doma Castle? 

Got the surveillance report we needed," Duane said, handing a roll of parchment to Locke. "Got a bit of news on the battle, too. They managed to hold their own against the Magitek advance until the armor got close enough to start hitting the castle walls. Tore up things pretty bad, by the look of it. They might have been finished if one of the samurai hadn't thought to haul the cannon upright and take a shot at General Leo. It was the last round, too, but the shot hit Leo's armor head on and sent it flying a good hundred yards. That was enough to break the charge completely and send the Imperials scurrying to save him. 

Locke asked incredulously. The man was something of a legend, one of the most admired Imperials in the world, if not the most. The fact that his peril could halt an entire Imperial advance was a testament to his leadership ability and the faith his troops had in him. Edgar had voiced the idea to Locke that maybe Leo could be trusted. Well, as far as any Imperial could be. Is he...? 

Duane shrugged. Nobody knows. The Imperials had to cut his suit open to get him out, and the sentries on the wall couldn't tell much. They just saw them taking the body back to the Imperial Camp, but they don't know if he's still alive, or even if he was then. 

Locke nodded absently, absorbing the information. The Domans were lucky that Leo's injury managed to stop the advance today, but the Imperials will be back in force tomorrow. For tonight, though... they'll be off guard. He stood up, stretching his cramped muscles and tucking the parchment into his back pocket. 

Then that means...? 

Yeah. We'd better get back to the others. We've got a camp to raid. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

The figure moved through the night so stealthily that he seemed a part of the dark landscape, a transitory blur in a murky world. His passage through the scrub of the Doma Hills stirred the foliage no more than a passing breeze. He was a part of the darkness given motion. A living shadow. 

Already, he could see the outer sentry lines of the Imperial Camp, sloppy and ragged in their construction. Of course, he hadn't been expecting much from Imperial troops, but he had heard General Leo's division was one of the best. Apparently, he'd heard wrong. 

_Fools_. 

They had so much confidence in their toys, their frivolous weapons of war. They never considered that there might be some things that those clanking metal monstrosities couldn't do, some things that they weren't suited for. There were cases when subtlety was needed, when a dagger in the dark was much more effective than a squadron of M-Tek suits could ever be. This was one of those times. 

Slipping through the concentric rings of sentry lines was little more than child's play. None of the sentries even looked his way. He supposed he could have simply walked into the camp, but there was no fun in that. He wanted these Imperials to be overawed at his presence, and dropping in on them unannounced was one way to ensure that. The more he put fear into their hearts, the more he demonstrated just how deadly and uncompromising he could be, the better. 

After all, it was what they had hired him for. 

He was among the tents now, moving from one patch of shadow to the next and avoiding the circles of light thrown out by the cookfires. This was way too easy. The entire camp seemed lethargic, inattentive. In the condition these troops were in, they might look right at him and not even notice. They spoke in quiet, hushed murmurs and stared blankly into the fires. A few seemed to be drinking heavily. 

Familiarity with the structure of such encampments allowed him to make his way smoothly towards the Command Tent. As much as he hated following this senseless Imperial protocol, reporting in was necessary in order to make certain that he got his payment. 

He worked his way around to the rear of the Command Tent, avoiding the notice of the Imperial Guards in front. Pressing his back against the stained canvas, he smoothly slid one of his daggers from a belt sheath. He whirled, inserting the tip of the blade into the wall and slashing downward in one smooth motion. The canvas obligingly parted, swinging apart in a sudden night breeze, and he slid thorough the gap 

_I can still make one hell of an entrance, Baram..._ he thought as he calmly stepped within. Panicked shouts were already sounding throughout the room. 

"What the-?" 

"Who-?" 

"Oh Goddesses, it's him!" 

"It's _Shadow!_" 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

"So, we're striking tonight?" the man asked, his face haggard in the flickering firelight. The clipped Narshe accent in his voice, normally hidden, was clear now in his state of fatigue. 

Locke nodded, adjusting his bandanna with one hand. "I know we're all tired from the journey, but the Imperials will be off guard for now. It's too good an opportunity to pass up." There were a number of nods and grunts of assent from the group of men that sat around the small fire. 

"Just show us the way to the party," said the youngest of the group, who probably didn't even shave yet. He patted a satchel on the ground beside him affectionately. "We'll provide the fireworks." 

Locke's mouth curled up in a lopsided grin. "I don't doubt that." 

The dark-clad Returners before him had the pale skin and stocky frames that marked them as being of Narshe descent. They were hard men, former mine workers turned resistance fighters, using those skills they had mastered in their former work to deadly effect. Though they numbered only twenty, they were a force to be reckoned with, simultaneously the most respected and the most feared Returner unit in existence. 

They were the Sappers, and they wore the bloody reputation of destroyed Imperial strongholds about them like a Jidoorian noble might wear fine garments; with a certain amount of pride, but also with a large degree of routine. As they had been before their recruitment, they were just men doing their job. Only now, it was not rock that they were shattering with their explosive charges, but people. 

"Here's the surveillance report from Doma Castle," Locke said, handing the roll of parchment Duane had obtained to Kwanda, the leader of the Sappers. "The believed positions of the supply tents are circled in blue, the ammo stocks in red." 

The other nodded slowly as he studied the layout of the Imperial camp. He ran a hand over his graying beard and whispered something to himself before passing the map onto the next man. The sheet made its way from one sapper to the next, each of them committing the position of the tents to memory. It did not appear to be a particularly hard task; extensive experience at raiding the Empire must surely have given them some general knowledge of how such camps were organized. 

As the last sapper finished with the parchment, he handed it to Duane, who in turn handed it back to Locke. 

"Nothing we haven't seen before," Kwanda said with a grunt. "We're ready to move out whenever you are, Cole." He started to stand up, but Locke stopped him with a wave of his hand. 

"Not yet, Kwanda. I need to go over my own part of this operation one more time first." 

Giving them one last nod, Locke walked over to the edge of the firelight where his chocobo was tethered against a tree. He absently patted the bird's head with one hand as he rummaged in his saddlebags with the other, receiving a muted _wark_ in reply. It took several seconds of sifting through the refuse that one always accumulated while traveling - half-empty tonic bottles, packets of greens, torn clothing - to find the roll of parchment he had been seeking. He walked back towards the fire with it, calling an order to Duane over his shoulder. 

"Since you're going to be here watching the chocos, you might as well feed them. They're bound to be hungry and overworked by now." That was an understatement; the birds had been running all day in order to get the sappers to Doma in time to have some influence on the battle. "Go ahead and give 'em their feedbags while we're gone. When we have to run, we'll be glad they have some greens in them." 

Duane started grumbling something about feedbags, but Locke tuned him out as he took a seat on a log near the fire. Better the kid hang around here and be bored than get underfoot and get killed. A long time ago, Locke had vowed to himself that he wouldn't let any more innocents die because of his actions. Not... after her... 

Shoving the past back into the dark recesses only plumbed by dreams, Locke unrolled the sheet and studied it. It was a complex drawing of a number of levers, buttons, and dials, some with arrows pointing to them with instructions written alongside: _FWD, MOTOR CONTROL, COMM., WEAP.?_. He had already read over them so often that he had them committed to memory. He just wished that the majority of the controls diagrammed on the sheet had more than a row of question marks beside them. Then again, he couldn't even trust those that were marked with any degree of certainty; they were just assumptions made from mock-ups. 

What had Edgar gotten him into this time? 

He remembered the last time he had seen the man, the day that the sappers were preparing to depart for Doma in order to sabotage the Imperial advance. The king had drawn him aside, shoved the parchment that he was looking at now under his nose, and uttered the words which Locke would come to dread in the following days: 

_"So, Locke.... how would you like to_ treasure hunt _a Magitek Suit?"_

_____________________________________________________________________________ 

"It's _Shadow!_" 

"I believe my services were requested," Shadow said shortly, his eyes flickering rapidly across the tent, taking his environment in. 

A large cot dominated the center, surrounded by figures in bloodstained whites and various tables full of metal instruments. These doctors had stopped their work when he had slipped in, some of them dropping their tools in shock. On the other side of the room were a pair whose uniforms marked them as high ranking Imperials - it was they who had cried out. And there, on the cot, only his grimacing face visible above a white sheet... 

"General Leo seems... indisposed," Shadow observed. Then he focused his iron gaze on the two men. "Perhaps we can discuss my fee." 

"_What?_" one of the men began, his walrus-like mustache twitching in annoyance. "There is no way General Leo would approve of the use of a vile assassin such as yourself! It goes against every rule of honor that decent soldiers stand for! Now remove yourself-" 

"That's enough, Dorath," the other said in a low, but forceful voice. "Let's take this business outside so the doctors can concentrate." Dorath began sputtering, but before he could say anything his companion was already at the tent's entrance, gesturing with one hand for them to follow. 

The two Imperials led Shadow through the flaps of the tent, past a quartet of surprised guards, and out into the night, stopping every few seconds to look nervously over their shoulders at the dark figure trailing behind. Perhaps they were not so foolish as he had first thought. At least they knew to fear him. 

"I can't believe you're actually considering paying this assassin, Romald," Dorath huffed as they made their way to a secluded corner of the camp. "The very idea of entertaining such notions is-" 

"Here," Romald said, tossing a bag to Shadow. "That's six thousand gold pieces. You'll get the rest after you're done. We do have an agreement? Thirty thousand GP for the King of Doma's head?" 

Shadow hefted the bag, testing its weight, then nodded. 

"What _is_ this shady arrangement?" Dorath said again. "General Leo wouldn't approve! He doesn't even know about this!" 

"I could cut out his tongue for you," the ninja offered darkly. "No charge." 

"These orders came directly from Kefka, Dorath," Romald said, ignoring Shadow's comment. "Leo wouldn't go along with the plan, so the plan's going along without him." 

"How can you agree to this? Don't you have any sense of honor?" 

"Don't you have any sense of realism?" Romald countered. "Look at what happened to Leo today if you want to see what honor gets you. We're at war. There are no rules. The King has no successor. We kill him, Doma goes into confusion, we sweep up the pieces. Simple as that." 

The other started to say something, but Shadow couldn't make it out. He was already moving away, melting into night. 

Shadow laughed shortly, scornfully. These Imperials couldn't even agree with each other. He might have been skeptical about their success if he wasn't on their side. 

Creeping once more through the valleys of darkness between the fires, he made his way rapidly out of the camp and toward the forest beyond. Though it would be a longer and more difficult journey to the castle through the trees, even the sparse fall foliage would serve to hide his progress from sentries on the walls. 

They wouldn't even know he was coming until he was within their defenses. They wouldn't even know he was there until his dagger went into their backs. He would be successful. He knew that with the sort of cold knowledge that only a man like him, a man who had smothered the last of his emotion beneath the icy weight of duty, could have. 

These samurai were skilled men, some of them perhaps as good at killing as he was. But they would never, could never, be more efficient. They faced the handicap inherent in honor. 

As he eased through the first rank of trees, Shadow whistled softly. There was a vague crackling sound, as if something were making noise on the very edge of sense perception. Then, the ferns before him parted and a low, dark shape leapt out. It landed only a few feet away from him, its deadly, angular shape almost invisible in the sparse light. 

"Interceptor," the ninja said, reaching forward to scratch the dog behind its ears. "Wait here for my signal." Interceptor woofed shortly in response. 

Shadow turned to look at the distant fires of the Imperial Camp one last time. From here, he could make out the square, bulky tent that housed the Imperial Magitek armor and the ring of sentries surrounding it. Fools and their toys. Let them stay there, let them guard their meaningless machines. 

He had work to do. 

______________________________________________________________________ 

He had work to do. 

Locke Cole licked his lips nervously as he crawled through the grasses of the meadow. His belly touched the cool earth as he shimmied his way forward, careful to stay below the sentries' lines of sight. He breathed the dirt, he tasted the dirt, he tried his hardest to _become_ the dirt. He couldn't be seen. If he was spotted, there were more than enough Imperials to tear him to pieces before he could slip away. 

The sappers were waiting even farther back, ready to move forward and attack when he gave the signal. First, though, it was essential for him to get within the Imperial camp. It wouldn't do any good to make a break for the suits only to find the pilots already inside and waiting to burn him down. 

It would be easier to move without the heavy suit of M-Tek pilot armor he was wearing, but the outfit would be essential to his remaining unnoticed. Hopefully, he could give the outer sentries the slip and then simply walk into the camp, make his way towards the Magitek Armor suits, and grab one. 

Oh yes, no problem there. Piece of cake. Easy as pie. Only in this case, said pastries were currently located within a fortified camp of approximately three thousand Imperial troops, in a tent under ceaseless watch, and more likely than not were just going to blow up in his face once he did find them. 

Yes, he _would_ get even with Edgar for this. Most definitely. Of course, first, he had to live through it. 

Locke kept moving. 

There were sentries off to both his right and left twenty feet in either direction now. He had to be as silent as possible, stay as low as possible, move as fast as possible. The key was just to not draw attention. 

"What was that?" a voice from his right, followed by footsteps. Approaching footsteps. 

_Damn it!_ They must have spotted the grass moving, he hadn't made a sound! 

Locke froze, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly. His muscles tensed and sweat leapt onto his brow as his hand crept towards the dirk that was buckled at his side. If he was going to survive, he wouldn't be able to afford any mistakes. He hoped that the sentry would miss him, but if he was found, he was prepared to go down fighting. 

The sentry's footsteps were louder now. He was getting closer. Stinging sweat dripped into Locke's eyes, but he couldn't move to brush it away. He held his breath, and the entire world seemed to grow horribly loud. Crickets screamed shrilly. The night wind roared in his ears. Grass rustled like old parchment. And the pounding footsteps sounded like the war drums of the goddesses. 

The stalks of grass directly in front of his face separated, and Locke found his face less than six inches from a pair of black boots. Raising his eyes revealed a standard Imperial trooper, armed with a shortsword and an autocrossbow. An autocrossbow that was primed to fire. 

Even as he heard the sentry's gasp of surprise, he was already moving. He sprang up, his right arm blurring into motion. The blade of the dirk shone briefly in the distant light of the campfires before it lodged itself in the chest of the Imperial with a wet, messy sound. Locke quickly twisted the blade and tore it free in a spray of crimson, his motions brutal, lethal efficiency. 

The brown-clad man stumbled back, wheezing, but Locke's stab had been true; the trooper had taken a fatal blow to the heart. He was already dead, he just didn't know it yet. 

There was a shout of alarm from Locke's left, and already the treasure hunter could pick up the motions of the other sentry in his peripheral vision. The man was bringing his weapon to bear on Locke with surprising speed. 

With inventiveness born of desperation, Locke bulled into the mortally wounded trooper in front of him, wrapping an arm around the man's neck. With a grunt of exertion, he twisted the body until it was pressed against his torso, a flesh and blood barrier between him and the other Imperial. 

There was the _chock-chock-chock_ of autocrossbow fire, and a trio of bolts buried themselves in the hapless human shield. Locke staggered back a few steps from the sheer impact, feeling warm blood spill across him. For one heart-stopping instant he thought it was his own, but fortunately none of the bolts had penetrated. 

_Fortunately for_ me_, anyway,_ Locke thought, disgust crawling through his stomach and threatening to make him retch. _The guy in front of me probably doesn't feel the same._

The sentry who had fired was running forward, reloading as he came ever closer. Locke's free hand darted down, tearing the autocrossbow free of the dead guard's loosening grip. He leveled the weapon towards the other sentry just as the man finished reloading and prepared to fire again. 

_Chock-chock!_ The weapon shuddered in Locke's hands as it launched its armor piercing bolts. 

Two seconds later, the Imperial was falling, a pair of quarrels adorning his chest. He hit the ground, rolled over once, and lay still. Grimacing in revulsion, Locke released the other corpse and shoved it away from him. It slumped to the earth like so much uncooked dough. For a moment, looking at the body sprawled lifelessly on the dirt, Locke was reminded of another corpse, a long time ago.... 

_Not now!_ he berated himself, breaking into a run. Perhaps he could get into the camp before anyone noticed that he was the one who had done the two sentries in. The sappers had to have heard the autocrossbow fire, and he had given them orders to move in at the first sign of any fighting. If they moved fast enough, hit hard enough, maybe he could work his way to the Magitek Armor in the confusion. 

And maybe the goddesses would appear with a golden chariot to carry him there. Still, he had to try. 

He had only reached the first of the tents when the explosions started. 

__________________________________________________________________________ 

"Retuuuuuuuuuuners!" 

At the first sound of autocrossbow fire, the sappers had burst from their place of concealment south of the Imperial camp and begun their charge. They moved forward at a reckless pace, each with at least two satchels draped over each shoulder. 

"Frag! One burst each!" Kwanda bellowed from his position in the center of the advancing pack, his ruddy face streaked with sweat. 

With reflexes honed through countless hours of work and combat, Kwanda shrugged one of the satchels off his right shoulder and caught the strap in his hand before it could hit the ground. Still running forward, he swung the satchel up in front of him, giving it a sharp, precise punch with his free hand before hefting it over his head and spinning it around rapidly. The other sappers mirrored his movements. 

The Imperials were waiting for them. About two dozen sentries had formed up in loose fighting formation directly ahead of the charging Returners, with scattered others moving in from all directions. Quarrels began whistling through the night as the troopers opened up with their autocrossbows. 

"Now!" Kwanda yelled, bringing the satchel around and down, hurling it underhanded at the formation before them. "Down!" 

The sappers dropped to the earth as their satchel charges hit near the Imperials, exploding on impact and hurling out hundreds of pieces of scrap metal in all directions. The Imperials screamed as the shrapnel tore into their bodies, shredding flesh like it was tissue paper. They fell, some still thrashing, most utterly still. 

As soon as the explosions had died down, Kwanda struggled to his feet, drawing the autocrossbow from the holster at his side. He didn't have to order his men to do likewise. They had been on enough ops to know. 

"Forward!" 

They advanced as one, firing their autocrossbows rapidly to suppress any sentries that might have lived through the fragmentation barrage. As he hosed down a pair of stragglers with his weapon, Kwanda wondered briefly just where along the line he had become so good at killing, and how. One day, he and his men were clearing out new passages in the caves of Narshe, the next, clearing out Imperial bases. Miners turned murderers. Excavators turned executioners. 

They darted amongst the outer perimeter of tents, separating into strike groups and heading towards their assigned targets. Kwanda and his group of four were assigned to hit the central ammo storage tents while the other groups pounded the perimeter. It wouldn't be an easy task by any means, but they had gone through worse and emerged alive. 

The darkness and surprise were their allies, and they moved too quickly for most Imperial troopers to even get a bearing on them. The few times that they were challenged, they managed to fight their way through with a few quick autocrossbow volleys. Occasionally, one of them hurled a heavy explosive charge to throw off pursuit. 

The two blue-trimmed tents that housed most of the army's rations were directly ahead now. They would make an excellent pair of targets. After all, an army lived on its stomach. 

"Brock! Jans! Incendiary! Hit those tents!" 

Even as he gave the order, he let another charge fall from his shoulders and primed it with a punch. He braced his feet against the earth, leaning back as he spun the satchel above his head. Then, stepping forward, he released it. As always, his aim was true, and in seconds the small bag burst into flame as it released its napalm charge. The tent went up like a tinderbox. A few seconds later, its mate joined it as Brock and Jan's charges hit home. 

_Boomboom!_

A pair of explosions occurred almost simultaneously, and Kwanda saw flames leap up in two separate places from the perimeter of the tents. At least two of the groups had hit their targets, then. Hopefully the third group was all right. 

Just then, another explosion tore through the air at the other end of the camp. Kwanda smiled. He knew his men wouldn't let him down. 

"Sappers forward!" He cried, slamming a fresh quarrel magazine into his autocrossbow. More explosions blossomed, rending the night with sound and fury. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Locke raced through the Imperial camp towards his destination. No one tried to stop him. No one even called out. His frantic dashing fit the scene perfectly. 

Everywhere, men were running. They staggered from tents and ran past the fires, their bodies brief silhouettes in the panic-filled night. All was chaos and confusion, and the smell of fear hung heavy in the air. A good half of the soldiers were drunk from spirits they had somehow smuggled in, and most of the rest had been asleep. They stumbled around in disorder, struggling to find their units and get into some sort of cohesive formation. 

Meanwhile, detonations continued to shake the ground and send geysers of flame spewing up into the night. The sappers were hitting this place hard, and they were every bit as skilled and fearsome as had been rumored. 

Locke just hoped they remembered to steer clear of the Magitek Armor until he was safely out of the area. It wouldn't do for him to hijack one and be blown to pieces a few seconds later. 

"Form up!" yelled a nearby Imperial whose green uniform marked him as a sergeant. He was slurring his words heavily. "We'll show those Returner bastards!" None of the soldiers nearby seemed to hear, or be in any hurry to obey if they had. Locke heard the sergeant began to curse feebly, and then his pumping legs carried him out of earshot. 

The tent that housed the Magitek Armor loomed before him now. Four guards stood at the entrance with primed autocrossbows, all of them looking around nervously. Swallowing a lump of fear that felt as big as his fist, Locke made himself approach them directly, slowing to a walk. 

The treasure hunter's hand tightened on his autocrossbow. He could only hope his deception would work, that these guards weren't on a first name basis with the pilots. He didn't know if he was good enough to kill all four before one of them killed him, and he wasn't eager to find out. 

"Out of my way!" he said with as much confidence as he could muster. Fortunately he had learned to emulate the Imperial accent long ago. "Don't you know we're under attack?" 

"Y-You're late, sir!" One of the Imperials stammered. His youthful face was covered with smatterings of acne, and he was shaking like a leaf. Locke understood now. These poor green recruits must've been pulled right out of their sleeping bags and shoved in front of the tent while the experienced guards took care of more urgent matters. "There's only two suits still inside. I guess one of them must be yours. Maybe if you hurry you can catch up with your squaddie. He just went in." 

_Damn!_ Locke barely managed to keep from shouting in frustration. Just when he thought things were going to get easy... 

Giving a curt nod to the head guard, Locke stepped through the flaps of the tent, eyes darting rapidly back and forth as he surveyed the room. A pair of "Grunt" model suits dominated the center, surrounded by a web of dark cables that snaked across the canvas floor to unknown destinations. A larger flap made for the suits to exit, currently pinned shut. An Imperial in a pilot uniform stood on a stepladder beside the nearest suit, bent over the cockpit as he adjusted switches and levers. He seemed to be prepping the M-Tek Armor for combat. 

The M-Tek core came on-line with a shriek, and Locke knew that he had to act now, or never again. He charged towards the guard, praying that the man wouldn't turn around until Locke was close enough to strike. He couldn't use the autocrossbow. The sentries outside might hear, for one thing. For another, he wasn't exactly eager to shoot someone in the back. The man turned to face him, eyes opening wide in shock as he regarded Locke. 

"Who the hell are y-agh!" 

Locke lowered his shoulder and rammed the ladder hard, toppling it and sending the Imperial crashing to the ground. Following through, he jumped forward even as the pilot tried to haul himself to his feet. Locke smashed the stock of the autocrossbow across the man's face with a satisfying crack and he slumped back, out cold. 

The treasure hunter stood there a moment, panting with exertion and glancing back at the tent flaps behind him. They didn't stir. The thrumming of the suit's core must have masked most of the noise. Still, he didn't have much time to lose. 

Righting the ladder the unconscious Imperial had unwittingly provided, Locke clambered up into the cockpit of the fearsome machine, buckled himself into the pilot's seat, and looked down at the controls. A myriad of flashing lights, levers, and gauges looked back. 

What a perfect time for his mind to go blank. 

He placing shaking hands on the control sticks, struggling to calm himself and recall the schematics the engineers from Figaro had provided. If they were right, just pushing forward should make the suit walk... 

_Vrrrrrumble!_

The next thing Locke knew, canvas was flying past his head as the suit barreled out of the tent at full speed, breaking through the wall, snapping the wooden supports, and collapsing the entire structure. The sentries outside gave a panicked shout as the metal titan thundered through their midst, bowling several of them over. Locke caught a glimpse of the young guard from earlier standing and staring blankly after him, and then there was no more time to think as the suit slammed into another tent, sending a spray of wood and shredded canvas into the air. 

Locke could only duck as the suit crashed on, tearing its way through three more tents. It kept going in a straight line, not slowing or swerving at all. The Imperials were finally starting to fire at him now, apparently deciding that taking out a reckless pilot was worth risking damage to his craft. Pressing himself as low as he could as autocrossbow quarrels whistled overhead, Locke yanked the control stick to the left in an attempt to evade. The machine went into a slide, spinning around in a complete 180 degree turn before stopping. There was a scream as a trooper was caught underneath a metalshod foot and crushed before he could get out of the way. 

The treasure hunter risked sitting up just in time to see at least fifty Imperials draw a bead on him with their weapons. He unfastened his safety harness and ducked beneath the console as they opened up. 

_Chockchockchockchockchock!_ The shots were coming so quickly that they blended into one long, unending sound. The part of the seat that protruded above the rim of the suit was already pincushioned with bolts, and more were clanging against the dense frontal armor plate. 

Locke reached up carefully and threw the lever forward again, sending the Magitek monstrosity charging into the mass before him. Once again, the soldiers were bowled aside and trampled like toy soldiers by the passage of the machine, but Locke was eager to put some distance between them. There were only so many times he could pull off that trick and not get hurt himself. 

After only a few seconds, he had left the group of massed Imperials far enough behind to risk getting back into the seat. There was still the occasional potshot as he passed, but if he was ever going to get out of here, he'd have to look where he was going. Buckling himself back in wasn't exactly easy, either, but he didn't want a sudden stop to send him flying. 

Amazingly, the suit's high-speed flight had already carried him to the perimeter of the camp. All pursuit was falling behind rapidly; he was already out of crossbow range. 

Settling himself behind the controls, Locke made minute adjustments, making the suit swerve one way, then the other. The Figarian engineers had been right about the motor controls, they just hadn't taken into account how very sensitive they were. This thing wasn't that hard to figure out after all. Hell, he hadn't even needed to use the weapons. 

That was when he saw them. Two huge, dark forms silhouetted against the leaping flames in the camp. They were moving his way, moving fast. Apparently at least a couple of the other pilots had noticed his destructive rampage and decided to put an end to it. They thundered towards him, black devil-machines, death molded into steel grotesqueries 

Then the tent directly behind the two advancing M-Tek suits exploded like a powder keg as sapper satchel charges detonated a massive cache of tekmissles stored inside. The light of the detonation was so bright that Locke had to shield his eyes. Once he was able to look back, he saw only two amorphous blobs of black metal where the suits had been, smoke rising from their scorched surfaces. 

Locke gave a victory whoop and headed back towards base camp. Hopefully the sappers would clear out quickly now that their mission was accomplished. 

__________________________________________________________________________ 

"Keep hitting 'em! We're almost there!" 

Kwanda and his group of men were still firing furiously, dropping Imperials left and right, but they were running out of ammo, options, and time. At last the enemy was beginning to shake off the confusion that had hampered them and start hitting back. The sappers began to suffer losses; Brock and Throme had been left behind, their bodies full of autocrossbow quarrels, and Jans walked with the shuffling gait of the wounded. 

Still, they fought on, pushing weary, burned-out bodies to the limit and beyond. There was one cache of ammunition they still had to hit, this one located almost in the center of the encampment. It was the biggest, and taking it out would be the perfect finale to a horribly damaging raid. The food storage tents and all the other ammo dumps were already destroyed. Blowing up the last tent would finish the job, crippling the Empire's war effort here in Doma. 

But first, they had to make it there alive. 

"No more ammo," Desideon reported grimly, his dark-browed face set in granite. 

"Doesn't matter," Kwanda said, firing judiciously, trying to conserve his own rapidly depleting ammo. "The cache is just ahead." 

Suddenly Jans cried out and went down as he was caught in a brutal crossfire by four Imperials who rushed out in a pincer movement. Kwanda knew immediately that he was dead. There was no way anyone could have survived that. Still running, he turned to open fire on Jans' killers. 

_Chock!_ One down. 

_Chock-chock!_ Two, three. 

_Click._

_Damn! Out of ammo!_

But that didn't matter now, because they were there, inside the malformed heart of the Imperial Camp, the ammo cache directly ahead. One HE charge left apiece. It would have to be enough. 

Arrows were whistling past his head now. Not much time left. He pulled up the timed charge, primed it, hurled the satchel into the tent. Desideon did likewise, and then both broke out into a run in the opposite direction. Kwanda expected to be cut down by fire at any second, but he noticed that the Imperial troops were running, too. In every direction, as far as he could see, they were running. 

What was the matter? Surely the blast radius couldn't be that large- 

_BUDDABOOM!_

The ground shook and both Returners were knocked off their feet and into the ruins of a wrecked tent. It was only after Kwanda raised his head from the wreckage and saw the advancing cloud of yellow-green gas that was emerging from the destroyed cache that he understood. His mouth went dry with fear. 

The gas continued to expand in all directions, enough to fill the camp to overflowing. More than enough. After all, the expedition had been packing enough of the special ordinance to blanket Doma Castle. As it was, there might be enough to reach the castle even from this distance. 

As the gas swept over them, Desideon sat up and hacked, spewing blood across the white of the canvas. 

"B-b-buh...... bio-bombs......" he managed to cough out before collapsing in a puddle of his own crimson lifeblood. 

Kwanda gurgled as own lungs filled up. His eyes, his nose, his mouth, his entire body was on fire. It felt as if he were being turned inside out and plunged into a vat of acid. 

Imperial soldiers staggered by, clawing at themselves in a vain attempt to dull the pain. They, too, were falling to the ground, coughing up blood as their bodies tried in vain to purge the vile poison. 

They were all doomed. Bio-bombs contained the most lethal toxins in the world, and the sappers had just set off what was probably the biggest store of them ever gathered in one place. It was all Leo's fault. 

_I didn't think he had them.. none of us did. If he had them, why didn't he use them? Hi_s _honor just cost him his entire army... and the gas will probably kill the Domans anyway._

"Leo.... you softhearted bastard," he said as the light faded and his vision grew dark. The pain in his body finally seemed to fade, replaced with a soft, gentle caress of something that was real and yet not-real at the same time. The coolness of oblivion swept over him. 

"You've killed us all." 

* * *

Author's Note: Well, certainly took me a while to get this one finished... sorry for the delay, but between college keeping me busy and this chapter going on longer than I expected, it's probably a low-grade miracle that this is before you now. I wish I could promise I'd work faster, but that's something I just can't do. Anyway, next chapter, those of you who are curious about what Shadow was doing during all this will have your curiousity satisfied. And, hopefully, you **WILL** be surprised... hehe. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four**

**WARNING**: This chapter contains scenes of a violent/unsettling nature. You have been warned. 

The rains had come again early that morning, as if the skies themselves were weeping for the great loss of life that had occurred on the plains of Doma the night before. Spotters on the walls of Doma Castle estimated some two hundred Imperials were still moving within the camp. Two hundred out of an army of over three thousand. Even though they were the enemy, the loss of life was still sobering and stunning. A cache of detonated bio-bombs had done in minutes what the Doman Samurai had not been able to do in weeks. If not for the direction of the wind, Doma Castle would almost certainly have perished in the noxious cloud as well. 

It did not matter. 

_What mattered was the way she had said his name the night they were married... the first time he saw her let her hair down, and it fell in a golden wave like sun on wheat and he had never loved anyone more..._

The figure made his way across the plains of Doma on the back of a chocobo, riding hard. The sun had come out from its hiding place shortly after dawn, and her warm rays of light bathed the wet, springy grass, making it seem to shimmer. The glittering carpet spread out for miles in all directions, the simple beauty of nature masking the horrors that had taken place here. The soft fragrance that is only found after the rain welled up, brushing aside the acrid stink of smoke from the devastated camp. 

Behind the figure, the form of Doma Castle receded in the distance, growing ever smaller. The Imperial Camp was even farther away, and if he chose to look back he would see what few Imperials remained packing up, preparing to depart Doma and return in defeat to the Southern Continent. The samurai had won, after a fashion. 

It did not matter. 

_What mattered was the way his day-old child had felt in his arms, so small that it seemed like it shouldn't be alive, but it was, and he thought _I helped make this. 

The figure looked only at the ground, his face expressionless, the reins leaden in his hands. He did not celebrate the victory. He did not look at the world around him. Everything important had been torn from him in one smooth motion, and his soul was still bleeding from a number of gaping wounds. Overnight, the world had ceased to have any sense of meaning. He walked, thought, and breathed in a universe of empty gray shades. He lived in nothingness, was nothingness, would always be nothingness. 

It did not matter. 

_What mattered was the blood. Was there really that much, or did it just seem that way because it belonged to her? Broken necks mattered too. Did they all really look that way, or was the boy's head twisted at just the perfect angle to bring the screams of hatred and sorrow?_

Pain ripped through him, harsh razor slivers widening the lacerations in his soul. Tearing apart his strength, his convictions, his will. 

_King's man,_ his conscience taunted, _King's man! How well you served your lord. A pity your family did not receive the same consideration. You are not fit to wear your sword! Failure. Your ancestors weep for the weakening of their line. For the _death_ of their line._

Gritting his teeth, he forced the pain into a deep pocket of his being and sealed it away as best as he could. It was not the time for recrimination. He would have the rest of his life to berate himself for his failure. Right now, he had to focus. 

What mattered now was killing the assassin. He could not save his family, he would forever hate himself for that. But he could avenge them. The assassin was fast, but rage and desperation fueled the man, causing him to urge the chocobo to greater and greater speeds. He would catch him before he reached the coast. 

And if he did not... 

His fingers clenched around the scrap of parchment in his hand, crinkling it into a tiny ball. 

If he did not, he knew where the assassin was going. 

_Elayne.... Owain... I... I will avenge you. I swear it! _

______________________________________________________________________________ 

They got in the way. 

That was the simple fact of the matter. No hatred, no malice. No regret. 

No emotion. It, too, got in the way. 

The dark-clad figure made his way rapidly west and south through the plains of Doma, heading directly for the coast and the small Imperial ship that awaited him there. He was not quite walking, not quite running, his finely honed body moving for optimum speed and endurance. The dog ran beside him easily, both of them making fantastic time. His pursuers, whoever they might be, would be hard-pressed to catch him at this pace. The old man had probably had a heart attack by now. 

Shadow supposed that the man's distress at the situation was understandable; some people simply could not escape the shackles of emotion. Still, his anger was misplaced. It wasn't as if Shadow had set out to kill them. If anyone was to blame, it was that screeching brat or the Returner attackers that had shaken him out of slumber. 

The ninja was just doing his job. That was what they hired him for. That was what he lived for. 

He would not be receiving payment for this mission, both because it was a spectacular failure and because anyone who might have paid him had probably been gassed in the Returner attack. The first reason was a direct result of the latter. He had carefully infiltrated the castle, working with utmost stealth. He had made no extraneous movement or sound, been noticed by no one. A perfect mission had been in the making, the kind of mission he was known for. 

Then the Returners had started bombing the Imperial Camp, and his plan had gone up in smoke as fast as the canvas tents outside. 

As he moved, his mind returned to the events of the previous night, replaying each step over and over. There had to have been some way to continue the mission, something he had missed. He simply had to find out what it was. 

Shadow's thoughts drifted back, following arcane mental paths and delving into the dark pool of memory. Yet he did not relax his guard; even as his mind immersed itself, his senses stayed above the surface, scanning his surroundings with all the clarity and wariness of a nesting choco. 

Distraction had almost resulted in his death last time. It would not now. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

_Shadow leaned carefully around the corner of the hallway, keeping his back pressed firmly to the cool stone. His body crept out by small degrees, virtually inch by inch. He had plenty of time before the sentry walking this hall passed by again. Time enough to be as careful as possible._

_Infiltrating the castle had proved no real difficulty. An approach through the forest, a sturdy grapple line, and a bit of dodging from one patch of darkness to the next had gotten him inside the outer wall easily. A scullery window had provided access to the inner building, and the rest was simply picking a few locks and avoiding the plentiful guards._

_Finally, after what seemed an eternity but was probably no more than a minute or two, the corner slid past his peripheral vision and his head extended narrowly into the dim, torch-lit corridor. Almost immediately he snapped back into the shadows, his mind calculating what his split second of study had revealed._

_Four guards around the main door to the king's apartments, certainly more within. The ones outside were no problem, but taking them out would waste time and probably make at least a little noise. If the guards inside the chamber heard, then rushed to bar the door and raise the alarm, enough samurai to kill even Shadow would soon be swarming. _

_No, seeking entry _here_ would not be a good idea. It was going to be hard enough to kill the king and escape alive even if he made no mistakes. With the entire castle alerted beforehand, it would be utterly impossible._

_Perhaps there was another way..._

_Shadow darted down the hall and around a corner just as a sentry stepped out into the corridor he had been occupying moments before. Whatever he was going to do, he had better do it quickly. He had tried his best to memorize the movements of the guards that walked the halls, but for all he knew they could alter them at any time. Though he was confident of his chances against any of them, he simply couldn't afford to sacrifice stealth for combat._

_The door before him was less ornate than the one directly before the king's apartments, but it provided the second best way to reaching his target. He had studied existing Imperial sketches of Doma Castle extensively, and if his memory was correct, this door led to the private chambers of the king's retainer. It should have some sort of interconnecting passage with the king's apartments, a passage under much lighter guard._

_Predictably, the door was locked. There was the brief whisper of sliding cloth, and a lockpick slid smoothly from a concealed wrist holder and into the palm of Shadow's hand. It was but the work of a moment to slip the hooked tool into the keyhole, and a single snap to the side tripped the lock. Giving the door a push, the wraithlike figure slipped within. Thankfully, the well-oiled hinges didn't creak._

_The room, lit by weak moonlight from one tall, narrow window, was filled with an amiable gloom that reduced furniture and hanging tapestries to nothing but vague shapes. From a pair of beds pushed up against the far wall came the deep, even sound of two people breathing. They were asleep, then. Just as well, less chance that he would have to risk noise by killing them. Shadow took two steps into the room, easing the door shut behind him, then stopped. There was something... something about this place..._

_The heady fragrance of perfume and powder hung heavy in the air, and for a moment the image of a woman brushing her hair in front of a chipped dresser trickled through the back of Shadow's mind. It took him a second to reconcile the wild variety of scents that filled the room, and then it suddenly hit him. Home. The smell of home. It had been a long time..._

_Hesitation. It was one of the most insidious enemies faced by an assassin. Along with its comrades-in-arms, Mercy and Weakness, it could prove fatal to the execution of a job. _

_And in this case, it did._

_**Boom!**_

_**Boom Boom Ba-Boom!**_

_The explosions pealed out rapidly and furiously, harsh percussion from the War Goddess' drum. They tore through the quiet night like steel through tender flesh, violently rending silence and letting raucous blood flow._

_"Uhhhnn.... wazzat?" _

_Shadow's body snapped towards the source of the noise, his entire body tightening as if internal screws were being twisted._

Damn it!_ The sleepers were waking up, and the entire populace of the castle was probably following suit. He had to act quickly and flawlessly if he wanted to carry out the mission. There was no room for mistakes any more._

_One of the figures sat up in bed, small fists digging at its eyes. A child. Even as Shadow began to move, the small shape turned to face him. A tiny mouth opened in a shrill scream at the sight of the dark monster racing across the room._

Couldn't afford the noise. No time to think. Just act. 

_Shadow lashed out with the knife edge of his hand, catching the child on the side of the neck. There was the loud _crack_ of snapping vertebrae and the body tumbled from the bed, dragging the sheets with it. The entire mass landed on the floor in a pitiful heap, but Shadow was already moving to deal with the other person, who was rising unsteadily from the bed._

_It was a woman, the mother, and her awakening mind was obviously having trouble grasping the situation. Still, some primal instinct of motherhood must have penetrated the layers of confusion and shock; she was opening her mouth to scream when the tip of Shadow's dagger swept across her throat, slicing it open from end to end. She fell backwards onto the bed as the arterial spray burst forth, splattering Shadow with droplets of warm crimson. The woman thrashed for a few moments, her mouth opening and closing in soundless screams, then tumbled over and lay still, sightless blue eyes staring blankly upwards._

just like Phoebe bleeding just like Phoebe on the floor do you remember Clyde do you 

_They got in the way. They would have made noise and revealed his position to the others. He could not allow that. If he had known his own strength, he might have at least pulled the punch to keep from killing the child, but he could not feel regret. He could not feel anything but the necessity to complete the mission. It was who he was. It was what he lived for._

_"Elayne! Owain! Are you all r-" the voice cut off suddenly, and Shadow whirled once again to face the door. His lack of attention had cost him dearly. If the aging samurai in the doorway had not been so noisy, he could very well be dead now._

_The man seemed to be in shock, his jaw dropping at the carnage within. His family, then. Very well, he would soon join them. Shadow tensed himself for the killing blow, bloodstained dagger held at the ready. But a quick kill was not to be._

_The man's gaze fell upon him, and his lined, mustached face broke out in an expression of pure, unfiltered rage. A katana whispered out of its sheath almost quicker than the eye could follow, its thin, deadly edge gleaming in the weak light._

_Then, with a roar like a dying Gigas, the samurai charged._

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Hesitation. It had been his downfall. 

He had hesitated when he entered the room. He had hesitated after he had killed the woman and the boy. The first had cost him the mission, the second had nearly cost him his life. If the old man had been a little faster, he would be dead now. 

Shadow flexed his hastily bandaged right hand carefully, sending spiderwebs of pain across his palm. He had suffered far worse in his lifetime, but he would have to watch carefully for signs of infection. An untreated injury could very well cripple his fighting ability. 

Hesitation, born of distraction. Distraction, born of memory. Memory of something that could no longer be. Of a life that was as dead as his emotions. 

_There._

He saw it in the distance, a small, unremarkable freighter with Nikeah Cobbler's Guild markings. It was pulled up in a small cove, and its deck swarmed with what appeared to be nothing but ordinary merchants. He knew better; they were Imperial "sympathizers." Meaning, of course, that they sympathized with their own empty money chests and sought ways to fill them up. Still, the draw of coin was a powerful one. Shadow perhaps knew that best of all. 

There was no reason to tell them what had transpired here. It was not something they needed to know. They lived in a small sphere, obeying directly the commands that they received with no regard for the big picture. Their work would go on regardless of whether Doma fell. 

By the same token, his own failure meant nothing to his next operation in South Figaro. The seal had been lost, but he had only been carrying it as proof. If it was necessary, he could prove his identity in other, harsher ways. If the Domans or their Returner allies actually managed to puzzle out what that seal meant, it would be far too late for them to do anything about it. By tomorrow night, the mission would be complete. 

And this time, no mistakes. 

No- 

_Phoebe...Relm..._

-hesitation. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

Cyan wished he could forget. 

He continued to chase after the assassin, the chocobo below him still racing along with no signs of fatigue. A good beast. He looked around him, trying to take comfort from his surroundings or at the very least find distraction in them, but he could not stop the flashes of recollection that invaded his head, the images of carnage. Of familiar forms broken and bleeding. Of his wife and son reduced from living, breathing humans to nothing more than meat. Of the butcher standing over them, covered with her blood. 

_I should have stopped him then. I... Elayne... son.. forgive me. My best was not enough..._

It had been late, and he had been standing his watch at the entrance to the king's chambers, tired, but willing to carry out his duty without complaint. After his shift was over, he had headed back towards his own small apartment, thoughts of sleep next to his wife foremost in his mind. 

And then.... and then... 

Against his will, the memory came rushing back, and he remembered walking into the room, seeing them lying dead on the floor, seeing the assassin standing over them. And then, before his mind could make any sense of what had happened, his instincts pushed him to attack. 

_______________________________________________________________________ 

_He advanced with a roar, sweeping his katana upwards in a glittering arc that terminated at neck level. The blow was meant to decapitate his opponent, but the assassin ducked low under the swing and leapt toward Cyan at the same time. The razor edge of his dagger caught the light and glinted as he moved forward._

Chingchingching! 

_As he darted past, the ninja rapidly slammed the point of his blade into Cyan's back three times, the impacts rocking the older man and sending him stumbling forward a few steps. Fortunately, his armor turned the blows, and it took him only a second to recover, pivot, and slash at the assassin._

_But as fast as he was, his opponent appeared to be faster; the blade met only air as the ninja did a backwards somersault that carried him out of harm's way. Not giving him time to recover, Cyan pressed the attack, his sword flashing in brief, bright crescents as he advanced. The assassin rolled to his feet and brought his dagger into a guard position all in one smooth, seamless motion._

Clang! 

_There was the harsh sound of metal on metal as the two blades met in a shower of sparks. The samurai struck again, and again, and again, and each time the ninja intercepted his blows. Cyan gritted his teeth as he attacked with ever more speed and frenzy, struggling to break past his enemy's guard, to get revenge for the horrible act that he could not yet fully comprehend. Sparks continued to fly like fireflies gone mad as the weapons grated out a sharp duet._

_He was not thinking; if he had been thinking, he would be sobbing over his family right now. Instead, he was operating on a volatile mixture of rage and instinct, his body primed to kill, his movements all perfection, all deadly._

_It was not enough._

_The ninja blocked his strike once more, catching the flat of the blade on the edge of his dagger. Then, he applied a sudden burst of force, pushing Cyan's weapon down and sideways as his foot snapped up in an axe kick and nailed the samurai squarely in the chin._

_Pain exploded in Cyan's face as he reeled backwards, but he kept his grip on the hilt of his katana. As enraged as he was, the fundamental combat instinct that was rooted in his consciousness allowed him to consider the battle in pragmatic terms; in a situation such as this, against an opponent such as this, losing his weapon would be tantamount to losing his life._

_Before he could recover from the first kick, another followed, a roundhouse that caught his temple with such force that he saw stars and nearly blacked out. Somehow, he managed to stay on his feet, but then a third kick struck him in the gut and sent him to his knees. _

Elayne... Owain... I am sorry_._

_He could only hope they would forgive his feeble attempt at vengeance. It seemed he would be joining them soon. _

_The haze of rage that had fueled Cyan was rapidly being dissipated by the rapid onslaught of blows. His breath grated harsh in his lungs. Flowers of pain were blossoming all over his body and his mind felt as if it were wrapped in layers of cotton. He couldn't think, couldn't move. He was finished, the emotional shock, the day's battle, and the lopsided fight having sapped him utterly. Still, he had to try. A samurai never yielded, even when soul was scarred beyond repair, even when body was pushed past its limits. If he could not avenge his family, he would do the next best thing and die trying. _

_Cyan raised his katana with shaky hands as he struggled to clear his addled mind. His vision was blurring, but he could see his opponent rushing forward, the dagger ready to strike._

_Very likely that would have been his end if Fate, or his Ancestors, or the Goddesses had not been watching over him. But just before the deathblow could land the assassin slipped in the ever-expanding pool of Elayne's blood, his stab going wild, his body tumbling backwards. He landed on the stone floor on his back with a loud /ithudi, the impact jarring the dagger loose and sending it tumbling._

_Drawing on his waning reserves, Cyan dove towards his fallen opponent, blade flashing downward at the ninja's throat. This could be his only chance. Once again, he had to make it count._

_The blade stopped less than half an inch from the assassin's throat. At the last second, the dark-clad man's hand had snaked up with almost inhuman speed to wrap around the blade of the sword and hold it at bay. His grip only tightened as Cyan applied more pressure, and blood began to leak out of his clenched fist and stain the bright surface of the blade. A second hand joined it, and with a casual expression the ninja began to force the sword farther and farther back. Despite what had to be horrible pain, he did not make a sound._

_"Why?" A deep, growling question. It took Cyan a moment to realize that he was the one speaking. "Why?"_

_"They got in the way," the other replied, his voice like bloodstained snow, somehow both threatening and coldly expressionless at the same time. "Things happened."_

_"Damn you! You will die for what you did to them, you bastard!" Throwing all his considerable muscle against the hilt of the sword, Cyan struggled to land the lethal stab, to silence this monster forever._

_"How eloquent." The tip of the blade, despite Cyan's efforts, continued to move farther away from the assassin's throat. "Many have declared that they would slay me. They are all dead now. When you join them, I hope that you shall find yourselves with something to discuss. Perhaps you can talk about how none of you could ever hope to match up to Shadow."_

_Shadow, then. His mortal enemy now had a name._

_Suddenly he found himself flying backwards, victim of a rapid leg sweep. He'd been a fool, distracted by his opponent's bragging as the man had no doubt intended. In an ironic twist, he found himself crashing against the stone floor in the same manner Shadow had only moments before. He lay there on his back, stunned._

_"You are too slow, old man," Shadow said flatly. "It is time to end this."_

_"Sir Cyan?"_

_A trio of samurai stood at the doorway, looking into the room with alarm. Shadow growled a curse, then leapt towards them, bowling one over as he darted out of the room. As the rest of the samurai stood there dumbstruck, Cyan staggered to his feet, raising a katana that now seemed to weigh a ton._

_"Do not let him escape! He has murdered... he has..." He couldn't finish the sentence. He started to run, racing as fast as he could through the halls after the dark shape. The others followed._

_Their boots pounded against the stone floors of the castle as they pursued the fleeing Shadow. He was moving so fast, it was a miracle that they managed to keep him in sight. If this turned into a contest of endurance, they would have no chance of catching him._

_The chase went on, down torch-lit hallways, up and down staircases, and finally out of the castle and onto the battlements. More samurai joined them as they went, and by the time the ninja burst into the night at least two dozen were on his tail._

_Cyan led the pack out into the darkness, where explosions from the Imperial camp lit the night with sporadic, hellish flashes. Detonations continued to sound out like thunder, shaking the ground itself. _

_Ahead, the form of the assassin was sprinting quickly along the scarred battlements of the castle. Not stopping once, he made a half turn and hurled a handful of dark orbs from a pouch at his waist. They struck the ground in front of the advancing samurai and burst into clouds of inky smoke._

_Coughing and wiping his stinging eyes, Cyan forged on, the smoke barely slowing him. Shadow had stopped a short distance ahead and was rapidly securing a hook and line to the battlements. _

No!_ There was no way he could reach the ninja in time to stop his escape. There was only one thing to do._

_Cyan leaned back, muscles tensing, the last of his ebbing strength going into the effort. Then, he cocked his shoulder, stepped forward, and hurled his katana with all his might._

_Shadow had already begun his front flip off the battlements when the sword whizzed by his side, missing him by bare inches but catching his belt pouch and tearing it free. The weapon flew on with the leather bag attached, the force of the throw causing it to lodge nearly a foot deep in the stone of the battlements. _

_Cyan raced to the edge, but by the time he got there, the assassin was gone, having vanished into the night that spawned him._

_It was only then that Cyan allowed himself to pause, to sink to his knees, to shake with utter despair and rage at what had happened. Things went dark for a time as he knelt on the parapet, his eyes closing in utter exhaustion. He buried his sorrow and loss, buried them as deep as he could and sealed them away. Crying would come later. Later, when he returned to the room despite the advice of friends. Later, when the handiwork of the one called Shadow was revealed in its entirety. For now, though, there was simple exhaustion._

_When Cyan opened his eyes, the torn pouch was dangling right in front of his face. Though he did not know it yet, within lay the key to catching his family's killer. _

_______________________________________________________________________ 

It was a simple thing, really; a torn piece of parchment marked with the seal of what one of the Returners stationed in the castle recognized as that of a noble family living in South Figaro. The implications of the tiny piece of paper were serious. 

Shadow was working for the Empire. Where he went, they usually followed, and by all appearances he was heading for South Figaro. 

There had been rumors of Imperial eyes settling on Figaro's southern province, but they were taken only half-seriously; the Empire seemed to be everywhere lately, but Figaro, the mechanized Imperial ally, was safer than most. Still, the evidence was right in front of their faces. Unless they had the goddesses' own luck, something bad was likely to happen in the town. 

Pigeons with messages of warning were sent out immediately to all Returner cells and to South Figaro. There was no way of knowing if there would be an attack or not, or even if the messages would reach them in time, but the attempt had to be made. 

Cyan, meanwhile, had a more personal stake in the matter. He had requested permission from King Orinas to seek out the assassin. The king had granted his request, though the pained look in his eyes and the strain in his voice told Cyan that he did not think it wise. Cyan had served him faithfully for most of his life, however, and that had to count for something. He had flatly rejected all offers of escort. This was personal. 

He had taken a chocobo and ridden out shortly after sunrise, not even taking the time to see his wife and child buried. He hoped they would forgive him that disgrace, but catching their killer required the utmost speed. Fortunately, it seemed he was going to make it up to them. This was a tracker chocobo, after all, and all it had taken was the scent of the parchment to set it off. It had moved at a brisk pace in an unerring straight line ever since. 

Cyan topped a long, low rise and brought the chocobo to a stop. A short distance ahead, the plains terminated in a line of small cliffs, below which there was sand, shining brightly in the sun and being lapped with intermittent waves. Beyond, he could see a stubby, inelegant freighter moving away from the shore, its steam engines churning the already choppy waters violently. Figures were moving on deck, one of them clad entirely in black. 

_No! NO!_ He could not allow Shadow to escape a second time. Digging his heels into the chocobo, he urged it forward, barely managing to hold on as the bird pounded down the rise and crossed the distance to shore at an astounding pace. 

He was nearly hurled from the saddle when the chocobo stopped sharply at the edge of the cliff. It was only ten feet down, but the bird refused to risk injury to either of them; when he tried to coax it forward, it only dug in its heels and _wark_ed in indignation. 

Cyan repressed the urge to strike the creature in sheer frustration. It wasn't the chocobo's fault. It was only an animal, and a very loyal one to lead him this far. Besides, there was no way he could catch the ship now. It had dwindled to nothing more than a dot on the horizon. 

_You failed again._ Cyan released the reins as utter despair overtook him. He tumbled from the back of the chocobo, landing on his knees. Bracing his hands against the ground to keep from falling over completely, he began to shake, slipping into the black mire of self-hatred and despair. 

_They trusted you to keep them safe. And when they needed you, you were not there._

_Chack!_

The sound of the safety coming off an autocrossbow came from behind him. He placed a hand on the hilt of his blade and started to turn, wondering if Imperials were there, wondering if it wouldn't be better to simply die. 

"Don't move," said a shaky voice with a curious, twanging accent. "Turn around and I'll sh-shoot." 

"Duane!" a second voice, this one more confident, less afraid. "Be careful with that thing. When's the last time you saw an Imperial wearing armor like that?" 

Cyan turned cautiously, not making any sudden movements. Despite the second man's statements, he didn't want to give this Duane reason to fire. Once he had completed the turn, he saw that two men stood behind him on chocobos, one wearing the red and green uniform of the Returners and another in a suit that looked Imperial in design and clashed heavily with the multicolored bandanna on his head. 

"See? The armor, the pony tail, the sword. Yep, this guy's Doman, all right," the man wearing the armor said. He dismounted and stepped forward, extending a hand toward Cyan. "Nice to meet you. Name's Locke Cole, Returner and Treasure Hunter." 

"The pleasure is mine, Sir Locke. I am Cyan Garamonde." He took the man's hand, shaking it briefly and releasing it. 

"Sorry about Duane," Locke said, waving a hand back at the youngest of the group. "He's a little new at all this. It's a good thing I came back to check on what was keeping him or you might be a pincushion by now." Duane gave a nervous smile but still gripped his weapon tightly as if he expected Cyan to try something at any moment. 

"It took some time to scout the Imperial camp," Duane said defensively. "They still have a couple of suits around there, you know." 

"Yes, yes, I know," Locke said in a conciliatory tone, trying to placate the younger man. Then, he studied Cyan for a second. "What brings you out here, Cyan? Anything we can help with?" 

For a moment, Cyan wondered if he could trust these men. They seemed friendly enough, but appearances were often deceiving. Ultimately, however, he had nothing to lose. What could they possibly do, kill him? That would only be just. He did not deserve to live. 

So, he told them, beginning with the events of the previous night, stumbling past the horrific reality of his family's death as best he could. He told them of the assassin's words, of his escape, of the piece of parchment he carried. 

"Shit," Locke breathed after Cyan was finished. "That's some story." He turned the scrap with the seal on it over and over in his hands as if contemplating matters deep and arcane, then handed it back to Cyan. "Okay, change of plans. We're not sailing to Nikeah any more. We'd better head straight for South Figaro." 

"But Locke," Duane protested, "what about the cargo? We're supposed to deliver it to the cell in-" 

"The cargo won't matter if the Empire takes Figaro," Locke said. "South Figaro is our main weapons supply outlet and contains one of our largest cells. Losing it will cripple us. We have to get there to warn them as soon as we can. Besides, the ship can leave and head for the rendezvous immediately after it drops us off. It won't have to hang around." 

"I still think the cargo's too much to risk." Duane insisted. 

"And I think that all the Magitek Suits in the world won't help if we don't have troops to operate them." Locke turned to Cyan. "We're heading for South Figaro, Cyan. You're welcome to come along for the ride if you want, but we're leaving immediately." 

"Thank you, Sir Locke." 

It was only a short ride south to the small inlet where another innocently marked freighter waited, looking remarkably like the one that the Imperials had departed from. They released their chocobos before they boarded, removing their reins, saddles, and saddlebags and allowing the creatures to run free. Cyan gave his bird a sharp swat on the tailfeathers that sent it galloping away. Being a well-trained choco, it would return to Doma Castle in a matter of hours. 

As they boarded the craft, Locke introduced Cyan to the crew and the small group of Returner sappers that had lived through the attack. The samurai greeted them as politely as he could, but he felt detached and vacant. He appreciated the help that these men were offering him, but he could think of nothing but killing the assassin. His only desire was to avenge his family. 

He rested his hand on the hilt of his katana as the ship thundered to life, not even his loathing for machines able to shift his focus. As the ship made its way out of the inlet and into the sea, he turned to look back at the receding coast and the grasslands beyond. He felt like he was leaving more than the country of Doma behind. He was leaving his life behind, carrying nothing with him but the ghosts of memories. 

Then again, he was left with the strange feeling that his life had ended last night with his family. Perhaps he was nothing but a phantom himself, moving through a world that meant nothing to him any more. 

If he was a ghost, however, he was the worst kind. The kind the legends spoke of, the kind that rose shrieking from the grave to exact vengeance. 

_I will not fail this time. I will find you, Shadow, and you **will** pay._

* * *

**Author's Note**: Wow, took me a while to write this one. Sorry for the delay, but it's hard to find the time to write when you're a full-time college student with exams, no matter how much you might want to finish the next chapter. 

Some of you were probably disturbed by the events in this chapter. That was my intention. Some of you probably consider Shadow's behavior a little extreme; I'm not so sure. He did work for the Empire on several occasions, after all. As to the whole Shadow flashback thing, you'll learn just why he's so messed up later on in the story. 

Thanks for reading and I hope to have the next chapter out soon. One thing that I COULD use is a good beta reader or two to proofread /offer advice on these things before I post them (I try, but I'm horrible at proofreading my own work), so if you're interested drop me a line and we'll see if we can work something out. 

Reviews/Opinions are, as always, welcome. 

**Next Chapter:** Meanwhile.... back in Vector.... 


	5. Chapter Five

****Chapter Five

_Is this hell?_

Cid crawled through the wreckage of what had once been a house, keeping his head low as he eased his way forward on aching muscles. The rolling sound of distant explosions washed over him while the force of not-so-distant ones shook the ground and rattled his teeth. He could also pick out the whine of M-Tek weaponry intermingled with autocrossbow fire. It sounded like there was fighting only a few streets over, possibly moving this way. Still, there was nothing for it but to keep going. It wasn't as if his home was safe, either. 

_Ouch!_ A jagged hunk of wreckage had stabbed into the side of his hand. Grimacing, Cid tugged the large wooden splinter - apparently the broken remnant of a picture frame - free, clamping a handkerchief against the wound to staunch the flow of blood. He managed to crawl a few more paces before he had to stop and lean against a partially crumbled wall. Cid had been working his way across the remains of Vector for almost three hours, and he was exhausted. Even if it meant risking death, he had to stop and rest here for at least a few short moments. 

Breathing heavily, Cid surveyed the area around him. The sky was murky, smoky, fueled by dozens of dark columns that wound their way up from the devastated buildings of the city. Few of those buildings were still standing; their shattered remains littered the streets along with the bodies of the dead. Others, reduced to mere skeletons of metal framework, seemed to reach towards the heavens as if begging for relief from their emaciated condition. Yet their hopes were in vain. No help was coming from that dull sky. Imperial Air Force craft could be seen streaking overhead, on their way to unleash destruction on their hapless targets. Explosions also blossomed in the clouds, beautiful death-flowers in a slaughterhouse sky. 

In retrospect, it had taken very little to tear the Empire apart. It was almost interesting, in a scientific sort of way. 

A week ago, Kefka, Gestahl, and two techs were found dead, burned to cinders. Coming as it did days after the South Figaro Expeditionary force had departed with a large amount of Imperial hardware, the vacuum in leadership hit hard, though many did not mourn Kefka or the aging Gestahl. Immediately the highest ranking Imperial officers had met to establish a council to govern Vector and the affairs of the Empire until such time as a more permanent mode of government could be worked out. They met on the afternoon after the demise of Gestahl and started preliminary motions to secure order. 

Before the sun rose again, they were all dead, reduced to nothing more than ashes. Over the next few days, different leaders attempted to seize power with varying degrees of support, most of them winding up dead, murdered by rivals or burned just like the others. As the structure of command collapsed, a number of mid-ranking officers saw a chance to rise to the top and gathered their most ardent supporters to help them achieve that task. It did not take long for conflict to develop between these groups; at first, the arguments were confined to meeting rooms, but they soon spilled over into the streets. Verbal quarrels were replaced by autocrossbow fire, and the Empire began to feed off of itself as a dozen or more separate factions began to fight it out for control. 

Things only got worse when the Albrook garrison arrived, the commander determined to secure the Imperial Capitol for himself. His force had proved to be a danger for a day or so, but eventually it too had fragmented as key leaders seemed to disappear. The battle now raged within the city and without, Imperial against Imperial, a vast, chaotic civil war. 

Cid had an idea that he knew what had happened to the men who had tried to establish order. He was afraid he was going to share their fate; after all, he had been central to the Empire, and most of the people who were had already been killed. He shuddered to think what might have happened to him if he hadn't been lying low ever since he heard the news about Kefka and the Emperor's deaths. 

_The girl... it had to be the girl..._

He thought of telling someone, anyone, but once again his cowardice prevented him from acting. He was partly responsible for her madness. Kefka had goaded him, but Kefka was dead now, and Cid would be an all-too-visible scapegoat. They would blame him for the subject's actions, torture him, kill him. And then, there would be no one to protect Celes... 

_How long are you going to keep lying to yourself, Cid? Celes doesn't need you. She can take care of herself. Admit your cowardice. You are afraid to die._

Perhaps that was the truth. Perhaps all he cared about was surviving. Once, the dominating force in his life had been the will to know, to understand all that he could of the world around him. Over time, that will had been subverted and twisted, shackled with fear until his main goal seemed to be nothing more than the preservation of himself and Celes. He would do anything to achieve those ends, follow any order, no matter how twisted. 

Cid was tired. Tired of crawling through the wreckage, tired of fearing for his life, tired of following orders. 

He was just glad that Celes was in South Figaro with the bulk of the Imperial assault forces, safe from this mayhem for now. She held great weight in the Empire and was in control of a vast army. She could fix things, restore order, if only he could reach her. 

With an earsplitting shriek, an Imperial fighter came screaming down the street at rooftop level, its left VTOL engine spitting flame and smoke. As it passed Cid, it went into a forward tumble, spinning end over end until it crashed into the remains of an inn at the end of the street and geysered into a fireball. 

_Time to be moving on,_ Cid thought, shielding his face from both the glare and the bits of shrapnel that peppered the wreckage all around him. _I think the fighting is getting closer._

He began to move again, making his way onward at the same agonizingly slow pace. 

The Empire was dead, at least in Vector. It was time to get out. But first... first... he had to take care of his unfinished research. 

And that meant stepping into the heart of the combat zone. 

From the beginning, the Magitek Research Facility was a prime target. There was not a single faction that did not want control over it and the treasures that lay within. Seizing control of both a large cache of M-Tek weaponry and the means of producing it would go a long way towards securing victory for any group. Fortunately, both Gestahl and Cid had realized that such a thing might some day occur. As a result, the emperor had pushed for an almost fully automated defense system for the Research Facility, activated by a passcode that only he and Cid - _and probably Kefka_, Cid belatedly realized - had knowledge of. 

That was the first factor that had allowed the facilities to resist infiltration until now. The second was that Cid had ordered his most loyal subordinates in the Research Facility to evacuate everyone from the building (forcibly, if necessary) and to activate the defense systems immediately after the Empire began to break down, when he still had some shreds of authority. Now, that authority was certainly gone, but it didn't matter; the system could not be shut down. Hopefully, it could hold off anyone seeking entry. 

_Including... her._

Cid saw the soaring jumble of spires and columns that marked the Magitek Research Facility long before he reached them. Though it had to have taken at least some damage in the fighting, it was not discernable at this distance. The bombardment had been very light; it would do no good to crack this shell only to find that the blow had ruined the nut inside. However, the Facility was also heavily fortified, presenting those who sought access a difficult problem. Strike too lightly, and they would never get inside. Strike too hard, and they would make the act itself meaningless. 

Still, this problem didn't stop the factions from trying, and as Cid crept to the last shattered ring of buildings that fronted the wide space before the Facility, he could hear the sounds of men and machines in motion; sure sign that an attack was underway. 

Summoning up what dregs of bravery he still possessed after years of being dominated by fear, Cid crept forward across the foundation of one building that still had three of its walls. He crawled to the wall nearest the battle and peeked out a ragged hole at the carnage beyond. 

The plaza fronting the Magitek Research Facility had once been immaculately clean, if rather bare and not very aesthetically pleasing. Now, it was a war zone. Corpses in Imperial garb, some of them days dead, were sprawled all over, two or three deep in places. In other spots were wrecks that might once have been functioning Magitek suits. The pavement was scarred, cratered, and littered with empty autocrossbow quarrels and spent slugs. 

The attackers had marshaled a considerable force; five standard Magitek suits and at least 50 men armed with autocrossbows, and, in some cases, grenades. They were moving forward slowly across the devastated plaza towards the Research Facility, arrayed in battle formation with the five suits out front and the men in ordered lines behind them. Cid cowered back into the shadows for a second, fearing he would be seen. Then, he realized that there was not a pair of eyes among the group that was not focused straight ahead at the entrance to the Research Facility. He followed their gaze and became mesmerized as well. 

They were called Guardians. 

The latest and most powerful Magitek design, the lumbering machines weighed in at nearly 10 tons each. Wide, club-shaped feet were topped by thick legs that supported a rectangular chassis. The body itself bristled with sensor equipment, rocket caches, and weapons ports, but was dominated by a pair of massive gatling cannons, one mounted on each side like rudimentary arms. Deep within, shielded by four layers of armor, was the computer brain that drove the Magitek titan in its quest to protect and destroy. 

Two Guardians stood before the barred doors of the Facility, and they had been ordered to destroy everyone who approached; an order both simple and brutally effective. With these guards there could be no bribery, no clever witticisms, no convincing arguments. There could only be death, swift and impassive. 

Cid started to turn away, but found that he couldn't. His inquiring mind wanted to view the Guardians outside of a controlled test. He had to see. He had to _know_. 

The attackers fired first, the M-Tek suits breaking into a run and releasing a swarm of tekmissiles that streaked ahead of them on tendrils of smoke. The missiles impacted on and around the Guardians in a series of spherical explosions that were so dense that they enveloped the metal titans, blocking them from view. A second volley of missiles followed, then a third, the rapid detonations coming so quickly that they blended into a single ballistic scream. Inky smoke drifted up from the shattered pavement like a death shroud, obscuring the far end of the plaza entirely. 

The suits kept advancing, switching to beam weapons now and firing bursts of pure elemental energy blindly into the smoke. The beams stabbed into the dark cloud like lances, strobing, quick, changing positions several times a second. Cid half-averted his gaze, wishing that he had packed his goggles; he didn't want to miss any of this, but he didn't want to risk burning out his retinas, either. 

_That would be fitting, Cid. It always was your curiosity that got you into trouble..._

_Whir-r-r-r-r...._ Even over the constant whine of the Magitek beams, the sound was clearly audible; cannons, cycling up to fire. The men advancing seemed to cringe, some running away or throwing themselves to the ground but most continuing forward grimly. The suits didn't even stop their firing. If anything, the crisscrossing torrent of beams only became more frantic. 

With a sound like tearing cloth amplified a hundredfold, the Guardians opened up with their cannons, and steel slugs as long as candlesticks and as thick as clenched fists were hurled from the cloud of smoke at high velocity and smashed into the approaching Imperials with devastating force. Magitek suits provided protection against many types of ordinance, but their reinforced armor might as well have been paper when it met the wall of fire thrown out by the Guardians. First one, then two, then three of the suits took hits, the dense bullets shredding armor and flesh alike. So powerful was the force of the impact that the suits were buffeted like living creatures by the bullets, one exploding as its core was breached, the other two flying back into the ranks and crushing a half dozen soldiers in their ruin. 

The other two pilots slowed their machines slightly, sweeping out to either side of the plaza in an attempt to evade. One slid his suit neatly out of the path of the gunfire only to meet a corkscrewing missile head on. The ensuing explosion strewed parts of man and machine over a hundred foot radius and left a smoking crater in the pavement. 

The last pilot had time to fire his suit's bolt beam once more before he was caught by both Guardians, four separate streams of bullets converging on him at once. To Cid, the suit seemed almost to _shiver_ as it was struck by the withering hail of gunfire, individual impacts hammering holes in the armor and severing hydraulics. Finally, several shots pierced the M-Tek core and the suit exploded, immolating the already dead pilot. 

The smoke at the end of the plaza began to thin and the two Guardians stepped forth, their metal skins smudged and scratched in a few places but still intact. In unison, they swiveled sensor-studded spines first one way, then the other, taking in the small army of brown-clad Imperials that was still heading towards them. Then, they opened fire. 

The men closest to the barrage seemed to simply disintegrate into clouds of red mist. The ones behind them were caught by the force of the bullets and torn to shreds, their bodies tumbling like rag dolls as they went down. Most of them didn't even have time to scream, although Cid doubted he could have heard it over the roar of the battle. 

To their credit, the troopers tried to fight, though there was little else they could do; being isolated in the open space of the plaza, there was no cover that they could hope to reach before being cut down. Still, desperation and bravery counted for only so much; where missiles and M-Tek had failed, autocrossbows and grenades could not hope to succeed. 

A trooper with two grenade belts crisscrossing his torso and another around his waist somehow got close enough to one of the Guardians to clamber up a leg and climb on top of it. With a maniacal yell, he yanked the pins off a half dozen of his personal bombs at once and held onto the machine for dear life. The explosion, when it came, splattered crimson across the metal titan like war paint but seemed to have no adverse effect. Not once during the entire exchange did the machine stop firing. 

Ultimately, the fight did not so much end as simply wind down. Gradually, there seemed to be fewer and fewer men moving in the courtyard, and finally, there were none. As the massive guns of the Guardians slowed to a stop, the silence sounded louder than the roar of battle had been. 

For a moment, the two Guardians stood silently in a sea of broken bodies, wrecked machinery, and spent bullets, their sensor spines scanning for motion of any kind. Then, they pivoted with machine precision, stepped heavily back to the entrance of the Facility, and resumed their guard positions. 

Cid could only stare, vaguely aware that he was shaking like a frightened Leafer. The destruction wrought by the Guardians was all so beautiful and yet so terrible, a result of his diligent work and application of esper magic. He felt a mixture of horror and pride in the machines that was impossible to define. 

_They... they were so efficient... but I never imagined... I... all those people..._

But the worst thing of all wasn't the field of dead men before him, or the knowledge that he had been partly responsible, no matter how indirectly. It was the knowledge that he would have to _walk_ across that field of carrion, that he would have to meet those thundering titans face-to-face. 

_Still thinking of yourself. How like you, Cid. How very, very like you._

Shoving that thought aside, Cid stood up, reached into his pocket, and pulled forth a small, rectangular transponder the size of an Imperial Postage Stamp. He pressed a button, causing it to hum to life. The device sure didn't look like much protection from the Guardians out there, not when they had eviscerated Magitek armor, but it was all he had. If it worked, he would be safe. If not, who would notice one more body in the streets? 

Cid didn't remember walking through the mass of corpses later, though the blood on his shoes and tunic told him he had. He seemed to shut the event away, seal it off from his mind, and later he could only summon a murky recollection of the smell. The terrible smell, raw decay overlaid with gunpowder and the stink of burning metal. The smell of death laced with panic and chaos. 

His next clear memory after he took out the transponder was standing before the pair of Guardians, the machines looming over him like metal idols. The two Magitek monstrosities remained motionless, their sensor spines locked onto the device that was held in Cid's white-knuckle grip. They did not fire. Cid couldn't believe the tiny transponder really worked, that something as simple as an encrypted signal could keep these beasts at bay. For a moment, he thought he might wet himself in sheer relief. 

_One of those bullets could tear me in half..._

Cid walked between the two machines and stopped before the massive portal that led into the Research Facility. The doors themselves were fifteen feet high and several feet thick, braced and reinforced with the strongest materials that the Empire's metallurgists were capable of producing. They were sealed so tightly that they appeared almost seamless, save for the small keypad and speaker mounted low on the left door. 

It was to this keypad that Cid walked, the Guardians swiveling sensors to track his every movement. He had to actually walk _between_ the pair of robots to get there, and that was an experience he hoped he never had to repeat. 

Cid rapidly pressed a series of buttons and the speaker crackled to life. 

"Access Code?" The voice was feminine, pleasant, a stark contrast to the industrial battlefield that was Vector. 

"O-open entry," Cid said, his voice shaking. "Access c-code '_**M**agitek **A**rmy **G**igas **I**ndigo.'_" 

"Access Code confirmed. Voiceprint analysis confirmed. Good morning, Cid." The voice trailed off, and the door locks disengaged with a hiss. There was the hum of gears and rotors, and the massive doors swung inwards. 

The Magitek scientist hurried within, the doors thundering closed and resealing themselves behind him. 

It was time to get to work. 

____________________________________________________________ 

It was time. 

The warehouse squatted on the outskirts of Vector and was heavily dilapidated, the roof worn right through in places. It contained nothing of importance and looked so run-down that anyone passing by would likely think that it had _never_ contained anything of importance. 

That was as she had intended. It was amazing how few of them bothered to check the basement. 

Terra ran gloved hands over the smooth, unmarred surface of the M-Tek armor suit before her, reveling in the feel of fine craftsmanship. It was a well-constructed war machine, suitable for carrying out the next phase of her plan. 

From the beginning, she had realized that she could not face the unified front of the Empire alone, not yet. She had been forced to hide, to selectively strike at the targets that presented themselves as most vulnerable. And her plan had worked; her enemies were now fighting each other. The city was virtually deserted now except for those engaged in the conflict, and they were too concerned with their petty struggle for power to pose any threat to her. 

Vector was hers for the taking 

_But first..._

Yes, first, she would have to gain access to the Magitek Research Facility. With the magic stored there, she could grow stronger, strong enough to crush Vector and all other cities into powder. Strong enough to wrest control of this world as her esper instincts told her she would, told her she imust/i. 

_Burn... burn.... burn and blood... burning blood they'll all burn I'll burn it all...._

She shivered in pleasure at the thought of a world in flames. 

She had not been happy when she had found the Magitek Research Facility closed to her and guarded by those huge machines. Against such massive weapons, she was not certain even her power could ensure victory. It was the scientist's doing, she was certain. 

Nevermind. When she found him, he would burn, too. 

Terra looked up at the Magitek suit, a strange sort of affection filling her as she gazed upon its twisted form. It was a suit of officer's armor, slightly modified with a pair of external missile pods that perched behind and to both sides of the cockpit like bizarre birds. Each of the pods contained fifty armor-piercing Tekmissiles, hopefully more than enough to put down the machines guarding her goal. 

Terra climbed into the cockpit and sealed the canopy. As she ran her hands over the console, beginning the startup sequence, she gave a deep, satisfied sigh. The M-Tek suit was more than simply a means to an end; it was her partner. She and the machine would soon become one, bound up in the savagery of combat. It would be beautiful... oh, so beautiful... 

The M-Tek core started up with a thrum, and Terra leaned back, her eyes half-lidded with the sheer thrill of it all. Destruction, power, pure and sweet. 

_Mine. Mine all mine._

_____________________________________________________________ 

_Floating twisting spinning _

In the gyal, time had no meaning. Night and day ceased to exist, replaced by the artificial lighting of the labs. The boundaries between seconds, hours, and days blurred together into one amorphous, lifeless mass. 

In the gyal, feeling had no meaning. The gel-like fluid was numbing, dampening the body and the mind that operated it. It contained suppressants that kept the espers from using their magic, and for an esper that was a sort of living death. The only break in the monotony came in the form of the painful "extractions" that they periodically suffered. 

In the gyal, rage had no meaning. If it did, surely the espers could harness it, use it to destroy those who held them captive and drained their souls. There must certainly be enough rage in them all to knock this hateful place to the ground and repay their years of suffering in kind. 

_Years? Have I... really been... years?_

In truth, Maduin could not say how long he had been here. It felt like an eternity, and from the changes he observed in the men outside, it had certainly been a number of years, but how many was unclear. Everything seemed to blend together, countless days and nights spent floating in the gyal all combining into one living nightmare. He had come to welcome the pain of the extractions, in a way. Though they weakened him, the pain cleared his mind and helped him focus. 

Not that focusing seemed to help. It had taken this "Empire" time to learn about his kind, and they had still not learned everything, but what they knew was enough. The espers never left the gyal-filled capsules that kept their powers at bay until they were utterly depleted. By then, it was too late for them to resist being dumped into the trash bins. Escape seemed hopeless, but Maduin found that he simply could not give up, even in the face of impossible odds. 

_She taught me that..._ He had once thought that love between a human and an esper was impossible, too. That thought brought another to his mind. 

_Terra.... what are they doing to you? Where are you?_

Though Maduin did not trust his sense of time, it seemed like days since any technicians had been around or any extractions had taken place. He could not shake the feeling that something was wrong, and Ramuh, his closest tubemate, had signed a similar thought as best he could. 

If ever there was time for an escape, it was now. Still, it would be far from easy. The jailors might be absent, but the prison was still intact; the tubes seemed to run fine without observers. However, if the gyal could somehow be drained... 

Maduin did a slow spiral and turned himself upside down in the dense fluid, running his gaze all around the bottom rim of the tube and groping with numb fingers at the juncture where glass met base. If he could just find a small imperfection, make the tiniest of holes... but it was useless. The seal was as tight as ever. 

He quickly righted himself as he heard the door at the far end of the chamber clanging open. So someone _was_ here. It would not do to be spotted attempting escape. 

Maduin recognized the short, harried man that entered the chamber. It was Cid, the head Magitek scientist, and he was looking even more worn down and stressed than usual; torn clothing, grime-streaked face, haunted eyes. The esper could not help but smile in grim satisfaction. Perhaps the scientist's damnable curiosity had finally gotten him into something he could not get out of. 

Unlike most of the other espers, Maduin did not see Cid as a true Magitek Devil, responsible for all the actions of the Empire. He saw him for what he was, a mere puppet, in his way as trapped as the espers. He could not forgive the scientist his faults, however. It was Cid's curiosity that was responsible for the development of the extraction technology and his weakness that allowed its continued use. Puppet he might be, but a dangerous one. Maduin thought that if he got the chance, he would kill him and not feel too guilty about it. 

_I will escape... I must escape... Terra... I will find you. If you are alive, I will find you. And if you are not... you will be avenged_. 

____________________________________________________________ 

Cid did not like the way the esper smiled at him. 

There was a healthy measure of dark amusement in that smile, as if the esper was gazing into the depths of his being and judging him weak and unfit. He did not remember any of the creatures looking upon him that way before. Certainly with hate or with fear, but never with a smile. Still, as disturbing as that grin might have been, it was the least of his worries at the moment. He had a number of loose ends to tie up. 

Moving quickly to the massive computer console at the far end of the room, Cid booted up the operating program and removed a packet of discs from the pocket of his tunic. Fortunately, they were still intact after the long trek through Vector. 

It was but the work of a moment to enter his command-level password, cue up the appropriate files, and start the rapid-speed data dump. Almost as quickly as Cid could replace them, the discs filled up with all the secrets of Magitek- theories, schematics, and equations spooling from the hard drive and onto the wafers. A scarce five minutes after it began, the transfer was complete. It took even less time to start up the program that would delete the files entirely from the hard drive. As he set it in motion, Cid gave a contented hmm. In another few minutes, no one would be able to tell the files had ever existed. 

Cid pocketed the discs and zipped the compartment up tightly. Something told him that it might be best to destroy them entirely, but he could not. They represented his life's work, and destroying them would have been like destroying himself. Perhaps someday the information within could be put to use again, and at the very least he could keep it out of the wrong hands. 

There was only one thing left to do. 

His hands danced across the console again as he made his way through one password lock, then another, then another, and another still. Something in the back of his mind told him that time was running out, that he had to hurry, and his typing became even more frantic. There were a number of failsafes to be bypassed, but he worked as quickly as he could, and soon the self-destruct system was primed to go. 

The idea of destroying the place where he had worked for most of his life was painful, as well. He had spent his most rewarding years here, discovering the secrets of Magitek. This place would soon be gone. Everything would be annihilated. The labs, the production facilities, the new prototypes- 

_The espers...._

He felt a dagger of ice enter his heart. _What was he going to do about the espers?_

The rational side of his mind told him that he should leave them as they were, to be incinerated in the explosion that would soon engulf the Facility. But the side that was starting to emerge from its shell of weakness told him something else. It was insane! He couldn't do that.. he couldn't... 

_Let them go..._

Didn't he at least owe them that? He had always been concerned with science, with the thrill of discovery. He had eagerly pursued the legends about the War of the Magi and magic and produced the facilities to hold the espers. He had gleefully examined those subjects returned by the Imperials who had gone on the harvesting mission in the Esper World. 

And then, somehow, things went wrong. 

_Science wasn't supposed to be about torture..._ His mind said. 

_No, it's about knowledge. However it is obtained!_ Was he actually arguing with himself? 

Fear had been a large factor in his actions, he knew that. At every turn he was confronted with demands from Kefka or Gestahl. Though he believed he was too important to kill, refusal surely would have meant torture for himself or for Celes. That was something that he was unwilling to face. 

Yet at the same time, he had been motivated by a ghoulish need to understand, to know everything about these creatures. The experiments, the extractions, the creation of such things as the M-Tek cores, all of these filled him with a sense of triumph that was diminished, but not killed, when he looked upon the dying espers. Though they were monstrous in form, perhaps he was more of a monster than they could ever be. 

His shackles had been removed. He could make some meager amends for his horrible actions, simply by letting the espers free. It was not as if there was anything left of the Vector that was worth saving. He wouldn't even have to be here; he could set the tubes to drain, cue the self-destruct system, and be on the way to his private plane before the espers even knew he was gone. They would not know who had freed them, but at least his conscience would be eased slightly. 

_But if you free them, you will be responsible for their actions. You've sinned enough already, Cid. Do you really want a second War of the Magi on your hands?_

The console gave a loud beep, and Cid turned to read the screen. Flashing words scrolled before his eyes: 

_**SELF DESTRUCT SEQUENCE CANNOT BE ACTIVATED - MANUAL OVERRIDE**_

Cid pounded the side of the console with his fist, the frustration almost unbearable after all he had already gone through. The manual override was on a sublevel of the complex, and traveling there to disengage it would take precious time. Every second he wasted here brought him closer to death. 

_At the very least,_ his scientific side put in, _This will give you more time to consider what to do with the espers._

For what felt like the thousandth time in the past week, Cid broke out in a run, heading for the elevator that would carry him to the sublevels. 

_____________________________________________________________ 

The modified suit of Officer's Armor stood amidst the last ring of buildings around the Magitek Research Facility, its twisted form giving it the look of a dark predator, lying in wait for the next careless victim. It appeared to thrive in the wasted city around it, an adaptable beast at ease in the harsh new environment. 

The young woman known as Terra reclined easily within the cockpit, both beautiful and deadly in a streamlined, low-cut black pilot's suit. She curled her mouth up in a smile as she surveyed the area. Before her stretched the devastated plaza, a carpet of warped metal and dead men, abstract art by death's own grotesque hand. 

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. 

Farther ahead still was the entrance to the Magitek Research Center and the two massive machines that stood watch, one of them smeared a dark red. They, too, were beautiful in their own way. A shame that she had to destroy them. 

The constant low whine of the M-Tek core spiked sharply as Terra adjusted dials and pulled levers, amping the machine to near-dangerous level. The entire frame began to shake violently as she primed the weapons systems. At power levels like this, the machine might very well shake apart, but she would have to wring every ounce of power out of the suit to stand up to those titans ahead. Besides, the danger only made her realize she was alive. 

_Now._

There was a sudden jolt as the suit barreled forward, its massive feet churning the sea of corpses, trampling some and kicking others out of the way. Huge strides chewed up the distance between Terra and the two Guardians at an incredible rate. As the machines swiveled their sensor spines to assess the new threat, a warm chime in her headset confirmed that they were within her firing range. With a laugh of triumph, she depressed the firing trigger. 

Even within the enclosed cockpit, the roar of the missiles that tore from the shoulder-mounted pods was almost deafening. The projectiles zoomed by on either side of the canopy in a seemingly neverending torrent of fire and smoke. As the pods disgorged a payload of a hundred tekmissiles, the intense pyrotechnics raging all around obscured Terra's vision entirely. The suit charged on. 

Finally, the thick fog of war wafted from the front of the transparent bubble and the results of her handiwork were visible. 

The pair of scarred Guardians opened fire, cannons chattering as if scolding her, providing a lesson in destruction. 

_Unbelievable!_ Terra yanked the control stick to the side, swerving out of the way of the twin streams of bullets. These things had taken an anti-armor missile bombardment and suffered nothing more than cosmetic damage. This was going to be more difficult that she thought. She could very well die. 

Even that thought only brought another stab of delight. There were few things an esper loved more than a worthy opponent. 

The streams of bullets were drawing ever closer, fire nipping at the suit's heels and shredding the pavement just behind it. She couldn't stay ahead of them much longer, and there was only one place to go. 

_Up._

Augmented jump thrusters on the feet of the suit kicked in, sending it towards the two Guardians in a massive leap as pair of rockets blasted a crater where it had been only seconds before. Terra fired in midair, raking both of the machines below with high intensity bolt beams. There was no visible effect aside from a few sparks. 

Very well, then, if her weapons could not hurt them... 

With minute adjustments to the maneuvering thrusters, Terra guided the suit to the patch of ground directly between the two Guardians. As the suit crashed down, she was tossed forward in the seat, her emerald hair flying as her head almost impacted on the console. 

The two Magitek titans swiveled to face her, their arm cannons cycling up again. There was only a second to act, to 

_jump_

Terra gave the thrusters all she had, sending the suit flying up and back at an acute angle as the Guardians opened up. There was the horrible shriek of twisted metal as the pair hit each other with a torrent of bullets at near point-blank range. Though they tried to cut off their fire almost immediately, they were not quick enough. Armor plating was pierced, sensors smashed, and vital components torn to ribbons in seconds. 

The Magitek suit crashed back to the ground, dropping into a crouch as the shock absorbers took most of the impact. The Guardians stood motionless for a moment, their cannons silent, smoke boiling from numerous rents in their metal hides. Then, they toppled in unison, bursting into twin fireballs. 

_Victory._

Her plan had worked as well as she could have hoped; nothing could stand up to the armor piercing slugs, not even the machines that fired them. The way inside was clear. 

Gaining access could hardly have been more simple. A blast of bolt beam to short out the locks, a few kicks to break the doors down, and she was within, the suit moving down the wide corridor that led to the core of the Research Facility. Eventually, she would have to abandon it, but for now it could still prove useful. 

She was so close now, close enough to feel the throbbing of the collection chamber where the siphoned magical energy was kept before being infused into the M-Tek cores. It radiated across the edges of her consciousness like the brush of a ghost's fingers, growing stronger the closer she got to the source. She would find it soon, and once it was hers, once she had begun to absorb that power, no one would be able to stop her. 

Belatedly, alarm sirens began to blare and red lights to flash as the defense systems picked up the presence of an intruder. With a _clang_ a trio of spheroids hanging on chains dropped from the roof above her, small but deadly cannons unloading a rain of tekbeams at her craft. Terra recognized these machines. 

_Trappers._ It would take more than these second-rate security drones to stop her. A simple wave of her hand, and the robots flew apart, immolated in a firestorm. 

More forms moved out of the shadows ahead, tiny Pipsqueak drones and larger crablike robots. She trained her suit's weapon systems on them and fired away, tearing through their ranks with beams of pure force. Carnage swirled around her as she advanced, smashing down all opposition. 

_What a wonderful day to be alive...._

______________________________________________________________ 

It had taken Cid several minutes to find the correct panel, crack it open, and begin his search for the manual override. Midway through, the alarm had gone off, but he had continued his work, too fearful to check the monitors. His only hope was that the internal security systems could fend off the intruders long enough for him to finish here. 

_Not intruders,_ he amended. _Intruder. It has to be her... who else could have gotten past the Guardians?_

The thought of facing the test subject again was almost too much to bear, but at least fear caused him to move faster. His shaking hands found the manual override switch buried deep within a mass of wires. Immediately after tripping it, he slumped to a sitting position on the floor, shaking with relief. 

_Almost done..._ Now he just had to head back to the lab to trigger the sequence and get the hell out of here. That is, once he decided what to do about the espers. 

_I can't just kill them!_

The espers were weakened, depleted. They didn't look as if they were capable of walking, much less casting spells. Destroying them would only complete his cruelty. 

_... but I can't let them go, either... _

If the girl found the captive espers, she would gain vast amounts of information and a number of potential allies. Together, they could start another war like the disastrous one that had ravaged the world a thousand years ago and had almost brought humanity to extinction. He could not allow that. 

The explosion that shook the building caused him to push aside his thoughts and move to the nearest security station. That sounded like it had come from directly above him... 

Keying in a quick password, Cid accessed the security cameras in the lab. When the image appeared on the small monitor before him, he nearly fainted. 

She was there, standing serenely amongst the esper tubes, looking at the creatures trapped within, her expression coldly detached. 

There was no question of going back there now. He had to get out of here before it was too late, get to the isolated chamber where his private transport craft was waiting for him. He had to survive this. Celes and the others had to be warned of the threat so that they could deal with it properly. If he died, they would have no way of knowing what happened. 

_Keep telling yourself that, Cid. Coward. **Coward.**_

"I tried," he said to no one in particular, breath rasping in his lungs as he stood up again. He began to run towards the elevator that would take him to his escape craft. "I tried, I tried! Doesn't that count for something? _Anything?_" 

The empty halls gave no answer. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Terra stood in the middle of the chamber, her eyes wandering over the containment tubes and the fanciful creatures that floated within. Some, like her, were vaguely humanoid. Others were strange, like nothing she had ever seen, bizarre fusions of man and monster. So these were espers, her kin. 

They were pathetic. 

As she gazed upon them, Terra felt hate seething through her veins. They were horrible examples of a once proud race, reflections of weakness and uselessness. Reflections of what she would become if she failed. 

They looked so haggard, so empty, so exhausted. Worthless. They were not fit to fight alongside her. They were not even fit enough to worship her. 

The one in the tube closest to her annoyed her the most, for he looked at her and made frantic gestures that were apparently supposed to mean something. For a moment, she almost thought she did recognize something about him... that hair color... the lines of the face... 

No, the fleeting impression was gone. And of no consequence, regardless. These espers had forgotten what they were. They had forgotten their purpose, their reason for existence. It was high time that she reminded them firsthand. 

Terra waved a hand, summoning up her reserves of magic. Grappling and shaping the internal force in her mind, she focused and _pushed_. Fire exploded around all of the tubes at once, shattering the glass and spilling gyal fluid and espers onto the floor. 

The espers writhed amid the mass of shattered glass and gel, some of them managing to rise to their knees or even stand but most simply lying there vacantly, only their eyes looking up at her. They were almost dead already. Finishing them off would only be speeding up the process. 

"You are espers," she said, her voice cold. "You are not meant to serve as lab animals. You are not meant to die this way. You are meant to fight." 

"What?" asked one of the espers lying on the ground. It was a fanciful beast, a horse with a horn sticking from its forehead. "Who are you?" 

"You have forgotten." She smiled again, her eyes lighting up with a fierce glee. "Allow me to remind you." 

Her hand flashed out, and a column of flame erupted from beneath the esper that had spoken. It gave a long, whinnying scream as it was almost instantly reduced to a pile of ash. A pile of ash in which a crystal shard glimmered... 

"No!" It was the one that had been signaling her earlier. The one she thought she recognized. "Terra, no!" 

_How does he know my name? How-_

An ice spell flew her way, throwing her off balance for a second as she dodged a shower of razor sharp frozen particles. She spotted the blue esper that had launched it and responded in kind, incinerating this one as she had the first. 

"Come to me, espers!" Terra laughed. "Show me you are fit to live!" She lunged forward, fire streaming from both hands and immolating two more espers. The dancing flames were reflected in her eyes 

Some of the espers simply fled, but a handful tried to counterattack, hurling weak spells her way. Terra threw up defensive wards, absorbing crackling arcs of electricity, shunting aside fireballs, and dodging what looked like a low-grade poison spell. She answered with fire spells of her own and was rewarded with screams of inhuman agony. This was almost laughably easy. 

"You are _not_ fit to live." There was a gleeful edge to the young esper-woman's voice. This was the most fun she'd had in days. 

Still, entertaining as it was, Terra wished to finish the battle before any more of the espers tried to escape. Perhaps one final strike would suffice. It would be a risky move, but the collection chamber was heavily shielded. It should be able to take the blow. 

_"You are nothing." _

Terra concentrated briefly and fire burst out from her in all directions, turning the room into an inferno. The espers gave tortured screams as they were devoured by the flames, but Terra did not relent. She fed in more power, pushing her limits to the maximum. The floor and walls began to buckle and warp from the intense heat, but she remained safe at the center of the raging firestorm. 

Finally, she released the power, letting the spell fade. With no further magic to support them and no real fuel to burn, the flames died quickly, revealing a room that was blackened and misshapen. Only the collection chamber appeared unharmed, the rest of the room reduced to a smoldering wreck. 

Here and there amongst the wreckage were the magicite shards, remnants of the dead espers. They had survived the inferno perfectly intact. Terra felt the raw energy radiating from them and walked to the nearest one. She picked it up, turning it over and over in her hands, gazing into its crystalline depths and marveling at the power locked within. 

_So much power.... so much... and it is all mine...._ These shards would serve nicely to augment her already growing strength. In time, all would fall under her sway. 

Terra pressed the shard to her chest, nestling it between her breasts. She shivered with ecstasy as smooth crystal touched bare flesh, sending ripples of bliss all through her body. 

_Mmm..._

They were warm to the touch. 

* * *

**Author's Note: **Well, longest chapter yet. A very disturbed individual, that Terra. Anyway, next chapter coming soon, hang around. 

Reviews are appreciated, as always. 

Later. 


	6. Chapter Six

Dark Empress Chapter Six

****Chapter Six

The ocean below was calm, mirroring the starry sweep of the night sky. Not a single cloud obscured the expanse of the heavens where stars shined like thousands of glowworms suspended on invisible threads. The glowworms were arranged in familar patterns. That, at least, was a comforting constant in a world that had grown so different and suffered so much. 

_Even the War of the Magi could not unseat the stars._ Maduin thought, then tried to concentrate on staying aloft. It took so much of his energy, and he was so very weak. 

The wind whipped past his face as he flew, and despite the recent events, despite his exhaustion and confusion, he could not help but feel an odd sort of joy, almost tragic in its simplicity. 

_The wind.... it's been so long... since I've felt... the wind...._

Ramuh was ahead, his long beard streaming out behind him in the wind, his bent frame wobbling slightly in his flight. He shone with a vague lumenescience as he made his way through the night. Last in line, behind Maduin, flew the billowy, almost insubstantial Phantom. 

They were, as far as Maduin knew, the only espers to have survived the carnage back at the Research Facility. He hadn't wanted to flee, but there had been no other choice. Terra.... _his daughter_, had not recognized him. She had killed other espers, a crime so heinous that it could barely be contemplated. Not since the War of the Magi had one esper taken the life of another. 

He had hated to leave her. If not for Ramuh, he wouldn't have, but his old friend had grabbed him and pulled him out of the room, screaming that he could do his daughter no good if he allowed her to kill him. 

He had thought that greater hate for the Empire was impossible, but he was wrong. They could drain him, test him, kill him, and it was nothing compared to what they had done to his daughter. She was like a machine bred for destruction. But no, even that was not the full measure of the dark truth. Machines did not enjoy killing. 

He still could not make himself fully believe it, his mind unwilling to accept the impossibility before him. He tried to reconcile his two images of his daughter, and failed. Nostalgia mixed with horror in ways unstable and twisted, producing contradictions in his mind. Terra gazed wide-eyed and clapped at the fantastic espers, she killed them with impunity. She wore tiny swaddling clothes, she wore the ghastly black death-suit. She laughed at her mother's antics, she laughed at the screams of her victims. 

_Oh, Terra.... what have they done to you?_ He had dreamt of a reunion with her for so long and had been given one of destruction. It seemed the goddesses were not without a certain black sense of humor. 

Altering his manipulation of the wind slightly, he increased his speed, pulling even with Ramuh. The older esper was perhaps the most knowledgeable of all those held captive in the research center and the escapees were relying heavily on him to direct them in this time of crisis. They were lost in a world that they no longer knew, filled with hostile natives. Only Ramuh could show them the way, guide them to safety. 

"Where are we heading?" Maduin asked, almost shouting over the whistle of the wind. 

"I... sense a source of power to the northeast," Ramuh answered, looking over at the younger esper. His eyes were carved marble, ancient yet still strong. "I think it best that we go there... to absorb as much as we can. We are weak." As if to emphasize the point, he wobbled for a moment before resuming a more stable course. "If we do not get there soon, I fear it might be too late for some of us." 

Maduin nodded once before slowing slightly and allowing the other to pass him once more. At this point, none of them was strong enough to even attempt opening a breach to the Esper World, not that he was sure they would be welcomed back. He had allowed a human, the enemy, in, and though it was not Madonna's fault that the others had followed, he would still draw blame. That thought streamed into another, and another, and again the vision of his daughter spreading destruction stabbed into his mind like a knife. He wondered if he would ever stop seeing that image of horror. 

_Madonna... I never thought I would be thankful you were gone... but I am thankful that you cannot see what they have done to her._

Once more, he promised himself that he would do something, anything, to make her remember. To turn her back into the Terra that he knew and loved. Even if it cost him his life, for she was the only reason he had to continue living. But sacrificing himself back there would have done no good, as Ramuh said. He had to rest, recover his strength, first. 

There was a sudden burst of light below as they passed over a ship. Maduin didn't know for sure, but looking at its pointed prow, harsh lines, and fearsome guns, he assumed it was Imperial in design. It was heading south, cutting a wake as it moved back towards Vector. 

_Wrong direction..._ He thought. By the looks of the Imperial Capitol when he and the others had escaped, there was a large-scale conflict going on. He could not help but wonder if his daughter was the cause of that, as well. Perhaps the Empire had paid a deserving price for its meddling. He just wished that Terra had not had to serve as the instrument of its destruction. 

The ship dwindled and vanished as they moved north, growing ever closer to the power source that they hoped would save their lives. Maduin drew on inner reserves that he didn't even know he had, his anger and desperation summoning strength in this time of need. He did not know what would happen tomorrow, or the next day, or the next, but he knew that he could not die here. He would not go to the grave without trying to redeem his daugher. He would not face her mother in the afterlife and tell her that he failed. 

_This I swear..._

The espers flew on through the night, shining like errant fireflies against the black velvet sky. 

______________________________________________________________ 

_Make a wish, Leo._

The Imperial General stood in the bow of the ship, leaning heavily against the railing as the craft made its way through the ocean. He braced himself against the side for both mental and physical support, his leg still aching from standing upright. As the wind played about him, stirring the high collar of his uniform, he kept his eyes focused on the heavens above. He took in the full expanse of the sky as he tried to find some comfort, any comfort, in the orderly arrangement of the constellations. 

The shooting stars had passed over only seconds ago, three of them. He had never seen so many at once, or so close together. Perhaps it was an omen of some sort. Still, wishes were wasted. Let the heavens spew fire and brimstone, let the stars fall from the sky, and it would change nothing. 

He would still be a failure. 

A failure who was responsible for the deaths of his men, of the Domans, of Marandans, of countless others. Nothing but a butcher in a fancy uniform. 

Death was a reality of war. He had learned that fact, accepted it, long ago, as all fighting men must, or go mad. There was no way to avoid casualties. And yet, it seemed that in every case, he was causing them in record numbers. 

This ship was the last of those that had carried his troops north and currently held every survivor from the devastated attack force. The rest of the ships had been scuttled just off the Doman coast to keep the enemy from using them. It was hard to destroy the ships in that way, but the cost in material was nothing compared to the lives lost. 

He had not wanted to use the bio-bombs on the Domans. Repeatedly, he had told himself that they could win the day without resorting to such barbarous tactics as gassing a civilian population. He had thought of Maranda then. Maranda, where his beliefs about the Emperor's commands had first started to waver. He did not want to repeat such a catastrophe, so he had not used the bombs. 

He had taken mercy again during the attack, not wishing to risk causing Doma Castle to collapse. That delay had nearly cost him his life, and had stalled the advance. And then, that night, the Returners had bombed the camp, setting off the bombs he had stored and killing over 90% of his command. How he had survived, he did not know. He had not regained consciousness until the next day after the whole mess was over and he was left with scarcely two hundred men under his command. 

The reality of the situation was harsh and indisputable. He had traded the lives of his own men for the lives of the Domans. It had not been his intent, but intent changed nothing; whether he had wished it or not, his men were now dead because of his actions. He wondered how he would ever bring himself to look at their mothers if they passed him in the street. What was he supposed to say? 

_"I'm sorry that my gross incompetance, stupidity, and regard for the enemy caused your son's death."_

Leo turned away from the stars and hobbled back to his cabin, setting his teeth every time his injured leg touched the deck. The pain was a mere pittance, considering that most of his men had paid the ultimate price. He only wished he could change places with them. They had all been so young and full of life. Now, they were dead, while he lived on as a shell of a man, a pitiful remnant more suited to pushing papers around a desk than leading troops in combat. Death in his case almost seemed preferable to going back to Vector with the stench of failure about him and Imperial blood on his hands. It would almost certainly be a deserving punishment. 

There seemed to be only one answer to the problem, and it was one that shook him to the core. As he entered his cabin, lit only by a single swaying lantern, he once again considered the real meaning of the papers that lay on the desk in the corner. 

_Resignation..._

Once, the very thought would have appalled him. He had served the Emperor for nearly his entire life, after all, and had expected to serve him or his successor until his death. 

But now.... 

After the hamlet of Maranda had burned, after he had seen just what bio-bombs and Magitek had done to the enemy, after his actions, he was not sure that he could continue to serve unwaveringly. Something had happened to him, something deep and mysterious and fatal to his career. He desperately wanted to be loyal, and he feared that the longer he continued to lead men into battle, the more likely he was to break his loyalty and besmirch his honor. He could not allow that, any more than he could allow more young Imperials to die because he was no longer capable of leadership. 

Leo eased himself down onto his bunk with difficulty, the pain in his leg spiking sharply as it was bent. Though the sensation was most certainly not pleasant, he had been spared. If the shard of metal from his smashed suit had been only a little higher, it would have buried itself in his vitals instead of his thigh. If his subordinates had been a little slower in pulling him from the ruins of his armor, he would have burned to death. If the medics had been a little less efficient in moving his unconscious form, he would have met a messy end in the expanding cloud of bio-bomb poison. Luck seemed to be with him. 

_Perhaps Lady Luck wants you to live longer so you can kill more people, Leo. She could be betting on your final tally._

He pondered that thought as he lay looking at the pitted wooden ceiling above him. The hanging lantern that illuminated the room swung slightly with the motion of the ship, casting shadows that seemed to slither back and forth. It reminded him of the shadows and the dancing flames in Maranda, and of the things had learned there. 

Human beings liked to fight. They quibbled over things both large and small, hurt feelings and spilled blood. There were few things more brutal than a pair of humans that were in disagreement. They could go to appalling lengths in their struggle to force their opinions on each other. But there was one thing that they could agree on, one great equalizer, one solution that made all their problems go away. 

_Death._

He came to this realization outside the burning town of Maranda, as he was walking through a field under the moonlight. A field full of corpses, both Imperial troops and Marandan resistance fighters. They lay in various positions, sprawled everywhere in the wan light. Some appeared to be in each other's arms, embracing both oblivion and each other. There was no arguing, no fighting. There was nothing but Death. Suddenly, their differences, their disputes, every intricacy of their idealogies, religions, personalities, meant nothing. They were all the same. They were all so young, and all so very, very dead. 

It was not that he had never seen death before, it was that he had never allowed himself to see it completely. He loved his men and tried to keep them safe, he tried to be as honorable as possible when facing his opponents, but he had never stopped to question the meaning of the fighting itself. It was then, in the field outside Maranda, that he had first began to ponder the morality of Emperor Gestahl's decisions. What made the people of Maranda 'bad' and 'disloyal'? Why were they in the wrong for wanting autonomy from the Empire? The thought had terrified him, relying on honor and loyalty as he did, and he had buried his objections beneath the weight of duty. 

_They were the same. When they died, they were the same. They all had mothers.... they were all human beings._

His objections did not want to stay buried, and the Battle of Doma had brought them to the surface again. He had always known that Kefka was not to be trusted, with his manical laugh, strange wardrobe, and his treatment of the girl. But the idea that Emperor Gestahl, the man that he had trusted with his service for so many years, could be similarly twisted and immoral was both difficult and painful to grasp. The idea that he might be fighting for the wrong side had threatened to destroy everything he thought stable in life. 

Leo wondered what he had really been fighting for for so long. He wondered if those samurai in Doma, if those resistance fighters in Maranda, could tell him. He wondered if the dead knew. 

He closed his eyes, and the rocking of the boat sent him into an uneasy slumber full of shadows and condemnations, the pale face of the girl foremost among them. 

________________________________________________________________ 

He tossed and turned in a grotesque parody of sleep. He knew he was dreaming, that it was The Dream, the one that he had experienced so many times before, but knowing changed nothing. He could not end The Dream, and there was a part of him that did not want to. He always hoped, somewhere in the back of his mind, that The Dream would end differently and would not be The Dream at all, but reality, the waking world nothing but a nightmare. 

... 

_She liked flowers._

_Her favorites were the posies that grew in the tiny valley north of town, and they had gone there to pick them almost every spring since she was able to walk. They played a game sometimes, where he would act like he did not want to go and she would act like she would cry if he did not, and then they would laugh and go anyway, and it was all right because it was just make-believe, and she knew that he would go with her always and be with her always._

_Sometimes they would take the big dog with them, and he would roll in the fresh grass as they picked the flowers. He would pick some specially to give to his wife when they returned but there were plenty to have fun with. The girl would laugh and stick flowers in her hair and his hair and even the dog's hair and he would laugh too, not the old laugh but a brand-new laugh that sounded low and pleasant and happy. Not like the other, harsh and cruel. Sometimes after she got older the girl would take her paints and make his picture with them, the colors vibrant and real. Her talent was exceptional, and he wondered that something like her that could create could come from him who always destroyed._

_Sometimes they lay there for hours in the field of flowers, looking up at the sky and telling stories, and he tried not to think of the bad stories but good ones, happy ones. There were not many, so he made them up. If she knew he was lying, she did not seem to care._

_At the end of the day he always found a dandelion for her and held it to her lips, and said,_

_"Make a wish, Relm."_

_And she always smiled at him with her bright eyes and her hair just like her mother's, and said,_

_"I wish it never changes."_

_Then she would blow and the billowy seeds of the dandelion would separate from the stalk and fan out over the field, over the petals of the blood red posies, over the grass outside Thamasa. And life would be happy and good and he would lift her in his arms and twirl her around and around as she laughed and they would go home with the dog at their side and she would have made a good wish, because it was all good and he hoped it would always be that way and never change._

_**But it did**._

_That day when they got back the house was quiet and he felt something was wrong but he did not say anything because he hoped that his feeling was a lie and he had never felt it in Thamasa before. Interceptor knew something was wrong too and he growled as they moved to the swinging door of the kitchen. And first he saw the blood across the walls and then he saw his wife on the ground in a pool of it. He bent down to his wife and felt for a pulse but her throat had been slit wide open and there was blood everywhere so much blood. He wanted to scream but he could not because he could not breathe. He looked at her throat opened wide like a second red mouth and he could feel his mind beginning to snap and he knew he would never forget it never not ever. He dropped the flowers and they landed on her chest like a funeral bouquet and they were red too._

_Relm screamed behind him as if she were dying and clung to his back but he did not turn around because his eyes were focused on the wall and he saw the mark there in Phoebe's blood, the mark of the Hydras. And then everything frag_

_mented _

_and after that there _

_were only bits and pieces._

_/_

_"Will mommy come back?"_

_/_

_"-take care of her."_

_"You can't-"_

_"Won't be coming back after this."_

_/_

_"Please, goddesses, it hurts!"_

_"Not enough."_

_/_

_Dead._

_Dead inside like they are dead outside._

_Told you to stay, Interceptor. Should have listened._

_Now you're like me._

... 

Shadow snapped awake at the sound of Interceptor's soft bark, his body reflexively tensing to strike as his eyes darted around the darkened cabin. He did not so much stand as _unfold_, going from a sitting position against the wall of the cabin to a combat stance in a split second like a dagger pulled smoothly from a sheath. His precautions turned out to be unneccessary; when the door opened, it revealed only a rather nervous-looking young crewman, dry washing his hands and jumping from foot to foot as he stammered out his message. 

"W-we've arrived, sir." 

Shadow nodded once and brushed past the frightened crewman without a second glance, Interceptor following at his heel. It was only a short walk up to the deck. The ship was moving through Figaro Bay, gliding across water that shimmered in the light from South Figaro's waterfront. The deck bustled with activity as men rushed back and forth, preparing the ship for docking. 

Shadow stepped up to the bow as the ship drew close to the docks. According to his instructions, the Imperial attack was going to begin in a few hours. When it did, it would not do for the Imperials to be faced with a battalion of Figarian Troops. His task was to rendezvous with Imperial sympathizers in Figaro and carry out a preliminary strike on the garrison. By eliminating key sentries, he could keep the defenders in the dark about the Imperial assault until it was upon them. It did not seem like a particularly hard task, but after the failure at Doma, he was wary. 

He no longer trusted himself. Things that he had long thought dead had surfaced during the Doma mission and had resulted in his failure. He could not afford to continue in the same vein. There could be no weakness this time. No hesitation. No mistakes. He could not allow the past to hold him back any longer. The past was dead. He had done the deed himself, murdered it with his mind as he murdered others with his hands. However, it seemed that the past did not wish to rest quietly in the grave. 

_That life is over now. It is dead._

There was no past. There was only the mission. That was the truth, that was his reality. If he believed anything else, he was only lying to himself, jepordizing the only goal that truly mattered. Chasing an impossible dream was pointless. The only certainty was death, and it was his job to deal it. 

As the ship drew close to the dock, Shadow broke out into a run and launched himself over the railing, Interceptor with him every step of the way. He knifed through the air and landed smoothly on the docks with barely a sound. Almost before he had landed, he was moving, his body bent low as he raced through the shadowy streets of the town toward his destination. Intercepter followed after him, a dark being in a darker night. 

Welcoming light spilled into the dark alleys from dozens of windows, illuminating spots of the ground. From within, his sensitive hearing picked up muted laughter, strains of errant music, discordant shouts. The sounds of home, an empty, deceptive siren's song He tried to clear his head by thinking back, running over the instructions he had received word by word. 

_Your mission is to report to the (home)mansion of the Gilan (family)clan. Further instructions will be provided to (father)you there. Once (husband)you (content)satisfy the objectives of the (life)mission, (friend)you are free to collect your (happiness)reward._

Yes, it was working. There was nothing wrong with him at all. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Something was wrong. 

She knew it the moment she snapped awake. She could feel it, hovering just beyond the reach of her perception like a misty form on the horizon or a thin whine just too high to hear. The mood on the ship had seemed odd for days, tense, and now it felt as if everyone aboard was stretched to the breaking point, ready to snap at any second. Surely part of it was just tension over the upcoming battle, but there was more lurking beneath the surface. 

_Ouch..._ The pain came to her gradually, as if from a great distance. She was biting at the skin around her nails again. Pulling pale fingers from her mouth, she wiped away thin streams of blood as best she could with the blanket. She then held her ragged digits before her face, frowning slightly at their appearance. 

_Blood on your hands Celes blood blood blood on your hands._

It was hard to say what was worse, the habit itself or the fact that she now did it in her sleep. Damn dreams. 

Dreams of burning houses, burning people, lives and hopes and dreams turned into ashes and cooking fat. Orders given, orders carried out, a mad dance of destruction with homicide as an encore. 

Things hadn't been the same since Maranda, not for her. And, she thought, not for General Leo, either. It had been her orders to torch the town, and she had followed them without question; at the time, it truly seemed to be the most practical move. Afterwards, turning what was left of an ashen teddy bear in over in her hands, practicality didn't seem all that important. 

Celes shrugged off the blanket and stood up, stretching her arms and working out the kinks. There was no need to check the clock on the wall opposite her bunk to know the hour; her own internal timepiece told her that she had not overslept. It might not have been the best idea to nap before the attack on South Figaro anyway, but she had been burning the midnight oil for several nights in a row and sleep was a much needed commodity. She had to be fully alert during this attack, fully aware of what was happening and how she should deal with it. She could not afford to allow a repeat of the events in Maranda. She wasn't sure her loyalty could take it. 

For that matter, she wasn't sure her _soul_ could take it. 

Celes had draped her cape over the back of her chair before she slept. She lifted the snow-white garment now and placed it on her shoulders before sitting down to pull on her boots. She had better hurry. Almeda and the rest would be expecting her topside in a few minutes, and she didn't want to give them any reason to enter her cabin. It was bad enough that they had noticed her bloodshot eyes and ragged fingertips. She didn't want them to see the state of her room and start reading things into that, too. 

The room was in a terrible condition. A small table was buried under a snarl of papers and vivid blue stains. The floor was splattered even more, and a number of empty potion bottles rolled along with the movements of the ship. The drawers of the bolted-down bureau across the cabin were half open, filled with still more bottles and tangled masses of clothing. Even the pillow and blankets seemed to radiate with the terror-sweat of a dozen nightmares. 

It was the room of a woman losing her motivation, her bearings, her convictions. Perhaps her mind. 

_Calm down.... calm down... just need to settle your nerves..._

Shaky hands fastened around a still-stoppered bottle as it rolled across the floor, fingers tracing over fine Jidoorian crystal. Celes pulled out the stopper, put the bottle to her mouth, drank deeply. The minty blue liquid flowed down her throat, cool and smooth, and her shaking seemed to stop almost immediately. She no longer knew whether it was the potions themselves or her belief in their soothing power that calmed her nerves, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was that she did not show what was going on inside. 

The flow of liquid stopped, and she let the bottle fall to the floor. It was now nothing but another worthless vessel, perfect on the outside but empty on the inside. 

_Like me._

She stood up and walked out into the hallway, closing and locking the door behind her. Just in time, it seemed, for no sooner had she tucked the key into her pocket than a voice from down the hall called out. 

"General Celes! We've been waiting for you." 

Celes turned towards the sound and found herself almost face to face with a man she despised. After Gestahl, Kefka, and herself, she hated Boaz Almeda more than any other human on the face of the earth. She had never liked him, with his loud voice and constant smirking expression, but of late she had begun to loathe him utterly and completely. He always seemed to be watching her, weighing her strengths and weaknesses as a Veldt cat would look for the vulnerable member of a choco herd. 

"Did you sleep well, General?" His mouth curled up in a lopsided grin that only reached halfway up his face. Blue eyes stared out at her from under red bangs, piercing her to the core. 

_Bastard._

"Yes, Commander Almeda." It was a struggle to keep her voice even, and she almost unconsciously slid her hands behind her back. "I trust that all preparations are going along as expected?" 

They began to walk towards the stairwell that led up to the deck. 

"I wish the other Commanders and I could persuade you to reconsider, ma'am," Almeda said. "Airstrikes are vital for softening up resistance. You know the orders that Emperor Gestahl stipulated." 

Yes, she did. All too well. The opening move was to be a series of airstrikes delivered from IAF bases on islands off the Northern Continent. The strikes would be leveled against civilian portions of South Figaro as a terror tactic to shake up the defenders. 

She wanted to obey orders, but in this case she found that she could not. The move was stupid, unneccessary. It would only be killing for the sake of killing, and after following similar orders at Maranda, she swore she never would again. 

"I know, Commander, that he stipulated that iI/i was the one in charge of this operation. I am free to deploy the Imperial forces under my command as I wish. You don't have to like my orders, Commander. You do have to follow them." 

They were climbing the stairs now, ascending towards the deck, and Almeda lowered his voice. Even he was not foolish enough to denounce her at full volume in front of the troops. 

"With all due respect, General," he said in a voice which indicated anything but, "this is a tactical folly. Those aren't Imperial citizens you're protecting, they are the enemy. It is essential that we spread confusion before the ground attack begins so they won't know where to expect us next." He paused, then smiled another of those annoying half-smiles. "I'm sorry if Maranda made you a bit squeamish, but I don't see why you should make our troops suffer for that. If you refuse to order an airstrike, I will." 

Celes clenched her teeth, biting back a scream of pure frustration and rage. How dare he speak to her so? How dare he equate being compassionate with being weak? 

"You will do nothing of the sort, _Commander Almeda_. I am in command of this operation and I make the decisions. A Magitek attack from the east will be sufficient to take the garrison. There is no need for us to employ an air attack. And if I even hear you _suggest_ otherwise to anyone under our command, I will have you tried for insubordination in the Imperial Court." 

"Very well," Almeda replied. "But perhaps you won't have to worry about me, anyway. How long do you think your troops will continue to serve a traitor?" 

He turned and began to walk away as she stood there, dumbstruck. A traitor? Could that be the source of the mood she felt across the ship? Her men, did they think... 

Were they right? 

Celes walked to the railing of the ship and looked out over the water. She almost imagined that she could see the lights of South Figaro like bright pinpricks on the horizon, though it must at least be another hour before the town would be in sight. The sea below was surprisingly calm, stark contrast to her inner turmoil. 

Celes had followed orders almost unquestioningly since she had begun to work her way through the ranks of the Imperial Army. She had never known anything else, never stopped to question the meaning or the purpose the commands. She had been made to fight for the Empire from her very first moments of birth, infused with the power of magic. Her playthings were weapons, first wooden replicas, but later, as she grew older, real. Her jewelry and adornments were medals, her only goal the praise of her superiors. She was a fighter for the Empire, a perfect weapon, born and bred. 

Until Maranda. Maranda had torn away everything she believed, leaving her an empty husk that simply went through the motions. The cries of the citizens of Maranda still scalded her soul and invaded her dreams: child killer, oppressor, butcher. There was nothing inside her anymore that made her care if the Empire succeeded or not. She didn't know whether to be happy about that, or sad. Mostly, she just felt- 

_empty_

-confused. 

Duty and conscience, battle and mercy, obligation and desire. This was the tangled life of Celes Chere, and it was unravelling by the second. That was the one absolute fact she could hold onto. 

That was the truth. 

_______________________________________________________ 

"Well, to be brutally honest," Edgar Figaro said, placing one hand on his chin in thought, "I don't know _what_ the hell it is." 

"That makes two of us," Banon replied. The Returner leader stroked the ends of his mustache absently from his position several yards behind Edgar. He was, as always, surrounded by a half dozen bodyguards. 

"Definitely old, though. This might even be from the War of the Magi..." 

As always, the passages of the Returner Hideout were dark and drafty, lit by flickering torches where flames struggled to maintain a hold. Similarly, the Returners gathered around looked no different than usual; tired men and women in red and green, all of them overworked, none of them terribly clean. What was different was the massive artifact before the gathered group. It looked wrong, out of place - a gemstone in a bin of coal. 

The fantastic statue still rested in the place where it had been unearthed a few days ago, intertwined dragons and central column pulsing with an ethereal silvery light. Edgar walked around it once more, inspecting it from every angle as the Returners gathered nearby murmured with unease. The statue had stayed in the same place simply because everyone was too afraid to even touch the damn thing. Edgar had gotten closer to it than anyone else so far, and the spectators were all obviously expecting him to be incinerated at any second. Which, he had to admit, could very well happen. 

_Hmm... wonder what would happen..._

Before he had time to think about that further, he reached forward and lightly tapped the gleaming statue with his fingertips. 

_And to think, I always called Sabin impulsive..._

With a crackle, the glow intensified until it was blinding. Edgar stepped back, throwing an arm over his eyes and wondering if he had just killed the entire world. Then a harmonious tone sounded, echoing and reverberating in the narrow tunnels, so loud and yet so beautiful that for a moment it encompassed all of his senses, became his world, his goal, his reason for being alive. 

The power was joyous, filling. Something told him that it contained everything he had ever looked for in his life, all the pleasure and fulfillment he had sought in women, wine, and the thrill of inventing. He wanted to be consumed and live in it forever. 

Then, the sound and the glow faded as his hand dropped away and he realized that he was on his knees, tears streaming out of both eyes, his entire body shaking. The Returners gave shocked, shuddery outcries, and he knew he hadn't been the only one affected. He turned his head and saw all of them sprawled or sitting. Apparently setting that thing off had dropped the entire crowd. 

"Shit," he breathed. He rarely swore, but in a case like this, there seemed no other word to describe the situation. "_Shit..._" 

"I am guessing," Banon said in a wheezing tone as he got to his feet. "That the statue is, in fact, magic." 

"Yes," Edgar said, holding his hand up to his face and checking for some sort of lethal aftereffect. "Yes, it does seem so." 

"Are you all right, your highness?" one of the Returners asked, looking at Edgar with concern. Big brown doe eyes, a pair of full lips... why, that smudge of dirt across the bridge of her nose just made her look cuter... 

_Well, at least I know _some _parts of me are still okay._

"I'm fine, my dear," he said as he clambered back to a standing position. "The question is, what are we going to do with this statue?" 

"We were hoping you could tell us," Banon pointed out. "We don't have the resources or the knowledge to even begin to study this thing, but it could be just the ace in the hole we need to tilt the war with the Empire to our advantage." 

Edgar took a few steps back from the shimmering artifact, breathing heavily from the contact. The intermingled feeling of joy, power, and lust still had his mind buzzing. "I don't know if we should even try to use this. The last thing we want is another War of the Magi. But if push comes to shove, we may have no choice. I'll send for some loyal scholars from Figaro Castle and let them have a look at this. Maybe they can tell you something about it I can't. In the meantime, I wouldn't get near it if I were you." 

The group began to disperse, and he walked up to the female Returner who had caught his attention earlier. There was still the long trip back to Figaro Castle, but that could wait for a lady. She was even cuter up close. As he came near, she smiled at him, showing a set of teeth that were, if slightly crooked, white. A faint cloud of perfume even hung around her slender form. 

"And who might you be, my lady?" he said, bringing her gloved hand to his lips. She reddened and brushed a few strands of auburn hair back from her face. 

"I'm A-alice, from-" 

"South Figaro!" 

The shout sounded from down the passage and both of them turned to see a courier racing towards them. He continued to shout at the top of his lungs. 

"Banon! South Figaro is- ... King Edgar? What are you doing-" 

"Nevermind." Edgar waved off the question. "What's the message? What about South Figaro?" 

"Sir," the courier paused. "Word from Doma.. the Empire seems to be planning some sort of move on South Figaro. They could strike at any time." 

"Doma, eh?" _Hopefully Locke has things under control there...._

"Yes... the Sappers managed to knock out the Imperial Camp entirely by setting off bio-bombs, but an assassination attempt on the King indicated that South Figaro could be next. All Returner cells in the area have supposedly been notified, but no one's sure how long it will take the messages to get to their destinations." 

Bio-bombs? Assassination attempts? This was troubling news indeed, even if the Imperial threat in Doma seemed to have been eliminated. Edgar hoped silently once more that his friend was all right, but his mission was so top secret that it could not be mentioned even here in the presence of Banon's guards. 

"We'd better send out scouts immediately," Banon remarked, stepping up to stand beside Edgar. "Even if this is just a false alarm, we can't take any chances. Losing South Figaro would be disastrous." 

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," Edgar said. "That's why I'm going." 

"Edgar?" Banon was incredulous. "You can't go! The Imperials could already be there. If something were to happen to you, Figaro would collapse. And the rest of us wouldn't be long in following." 

"I think you overestimate my importance, Banon. The chancellor does most of the running of the kingdom anyway. Those are my people. I have an obligation to them. I can't just leave them in Imperial hands. Someone has to see what's going on there and ensure that the warning gets out. No one knows the ins and outs of that town better than me except Locke. And since he's not here right now, I'm going to have to stand in." 

"But er- won't they recognize you, your highness?" Alice said, her blush deepening. "I mean, _I_ could never forget your face...." She really was quite lovely. A pity that duty called... 

"I shall just have to go in disguise, then," Edgar said. He turned to Banon. "Send a message to Figaro Castle informing them of my intentions. I had better get going right now." 

Almost as an afterthought, he reached into his pocket and pulled forth a pair of mythril cufflinks embossed with the seal of the Figaro clan. Taking Alice's hand, he pressed them into her palm and folded her fingers over them. 

"Something to remember me by, until I get back." 

She nearly swooned, and he once again lamented the call of duty. 

_So many beautiful women in this world, and so little time._

**Author's Note:** Yes, yes, after such a long absence, this is what you get. There is a lack of action and major plot development, but it was high time for a bit of catching up with Leo and the introduction of some more major characters. Although I hate to put an apology in every single chapter's author notes, I must apologize here in advance for my tardiness in putting out the next chapter. Pity DK, for he shall face papers, exams, and tomes of required reading in the next few weeks. Rest assured, though, sooner or later, the story must and will go on. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Dark Empress Chapter 7

_**SUMMARY OF PAST CHAPTERS**_

Sorry, sorry, SORRY for the delay. Anyhow, since it's been about four months, I doubt any of my old readers are still with this, but in case you are, a quick summary of past events for your sake: 

Terra has gone insane and Kefka and Gestahl are dead. The Empire is in ruins at Terra's hands and Vector is totally under her control. 

General Leo's attack on Doma failed when a Returner sneak attack set off a cache of bio-bombs. His forces decimated, the General is returning in disgrace to the southern continent. 

Locke, Cyan, and the other Returners are racing to South Figaro in order to warn of an impending Imperial attack. 

Shadow, having failed his assassination attempt on the King of Doma, is also in South Figaro disrupting the garrison per Imperial orders. 

General Celes is brooding over issues of guilt and morality and about the pending attack on South Figaro. She's also drinking quite a bit. 

The Returners have uncovered a strange statue in their headquarters, which appears to have mysterious magic powers. Edgar examined it but could find nothing of its function. The Figarian king is currently en route to South Figaro in disguise. 

Cid fled Vector with the data for producing Magitek weapons. He is currently en route to meet Celes in South Figaro and tell her of what has happened. 

Finally, Maduin, Ramuh, and Phantom have escaped the Magitek Research Center and are heading towards a spot in the northeast where Ramhu sensed a source of power. 

Now, on with the story. 

**Chapter 7**

Vector smoldered in the darkness. 

The rain pattered down from a clouded sky onto the ruins of the Imperial Capital, striking shattered buildings and running down their facades in thin streamers, filling the streets with brackish pools, snuffing the flames that still burned throughout the wreckage. 

The city was quiet, the violence that had infested the streets earlier in the day gone, the soldiers and citizens fled or silently rotting in the gutters. It was a place of death now, home only to a host of the dead and the creatures that fed upon them. Indeed the city itself resembled a vast corpse; machine-breath stilled, facade-skin cracked, iron girder-bones showing through. This was Vector, and it was all hers. 

Her Empire. It was so very beautiful. 

Terra dozed at her perch on the balcony atop the Magitek Research Center, viewing the city through heavy-lidded eyes. Even those with great power had to sleep sometime, she supposed, and she was very weary. It had been a long day; following the capturing of the Center, she had spread out into the rest of the city, crushing those foolish enough to fight and driving off the rest. 

Now the city and all its treasures were hers. It would be her home, the seat of power from whence she would expand to cover this entire world in flames, drown everyone who dared to question her in a sea of blood. It would be a daunting task to undertake herself, but with the magic she had claimed here and her esper instincts, she would be more than capable. 

But first, she needed to rest, she needed to- 

The tone sounded suddenly, loud and filling, surging through her with astonishing force and snapping her eyes wide open. For a moment, she experienced mental whiteout as every emotion was replaced with intermingled joy, lust, and.... and.... 

_POWER_

More power than was contained in the entire Research Center.... much more. Power enough to split mountains or raise them, to throw down an entire world in flames. Power that she needed. Power that, once she had felt its touch, she knew she could no longer live without. 

The power faded away to a dim echo, and she could think again. Reaching out with her mind, she felt tentatively at the traces of magic remaining from the powerful surge. It had come from the north, far across the Aryth Ocean. 

Terra stood up, her weariness forgotten in her sudden excitement. Reaching deep within, she brushed against her stronger self and willed it to come _forth_. It surfaced slowly, an ungainly beast of instincts rising from the inky depths of her mind. Then, it broke water, surging into her consciousness and triggering her transformation. 

It began as a luminescent mist that appeared on the floor about her feet. The mist climbed her form in wreathing tendrils, cocooning her in a rosy glow. Then there was a bright flash of light, and when it faded, her esper nature was fully in control. 

She rose into the air above the dark city like a glowworm on an invisible thread, hovering motionless in the dark air for a moment. Then, she gathered her power about her and blasted away in a streak of light that vanished into the northern sky. 

The resulting sonic boom rocked the city, shaking buildings and breaking the few windows still intact in a shower of glass. For a moment, the rats fled as the sound echoed and reverberated in the empty metal canyons, bouncing throughout the ruined city. Then the sound faded, the rain of glass stopped, and the rodents resumed their feast. 

The spark of life had fled. Its glowing heart gone north, Vector was left dead and empty once more. 

______________________________________________________________ 

The door of the quaint little cottage splintered on the third kick and broke inward on the fourth, striking the wall with such force that it was nearly torn from its hinges. 

Harsh white light stabbed into the darkness behind the door, revealing a flight of stone steps leading down. The young Imperial in the doorway took a few hesitant steps into the room, panning his flashlight back and forth across a stone floor, workbenches, machinery, welding torches. Some sort of manufacturing center, then. 

"In the name of Emperor Gestahl," the soldier began, launching into a well-rehearsed speech. "Drop your weapons and come out with your hands up! The Emperor extends his mercy to all who-" 

His speech was interrupted by the clatter of firing autocrossbows. Their counter argument, while a bit lacking in eloquence, proved to be effective; the Imperial had no choice but to fall silent as a half-dozen crossbow bolts buried themselves in his torso. He stumbled back a few steps and then fell from the stairs, his part in the debate over. 

"Returners!" The panicked shout rose amongst the Imperials clustered about the door, and they began to draw back just as another salvo tore forth from the darkness below. Pandemonium broke out as the door exploded in a shower of splinters and two more Imperials went down in sprays of their own blood. 

"Return fire!" the squad leader commanded. He tried his best to sound confident, like they had taught him at the Imperial Academy. But no school could prepare one for the horrors of combat, no classes could teach the hellish art of spilling blood. Here, it was raw and red and real, and everything at the Academy seemed like something out of a dream. 

The troops on the stairs opened up, firing blindly down the steps into the vast stone room. The Returners answered, and the battle was joined. As the autocrossbows spoke, bolts lodged in benches, caromed off stone and machinery in showers of sparks, and ripped flesh. Imperials were still falling, but now the Returners were dying too, their screams audible even above the sound of firing as they billowed up out of the darkness. 

Three points of flame sailed through the air towards the Imperials, looking like will o' wisps floating tranquilly through the darkness. And then the homemade firebombs broke against the front ranks of the men on the stairs, glass shattering, oil splattering, flame spreading, and the illusion of tranquility burned away. The fire jumped and danced, leaping gleefully from one man to the next, surging up the stairs in a blistering rush to claim more victims. The Imperials screamed, first as they were consumed by the flames and then as the Returners opened fire against their now brilliantly outlined forms. 

Men died, pierced by bolts, burned to cinders, trampled by their comrades. The attack fell apart in five chaotic seconds, and the squad leader suddenly found himself screaming for the retreat and crawling frantically up the stairs on all fours. 

He thought for a moment that he wasn't going to make it, that they'd cut him down in the doorway and he'd fall back into the flames, and all Asha would have left of him was a little box of ashes. And then he was out in the street, his men rushing up behind him and forcing him forward like an ocean wave. They only stopped running when they had crossed the street and set up a crude defensive position amongst some barrels and crates. Leveling weapons at the cottage across the street, they prepared to shoot the first thing that came out the door. 

Around them, South Figaro was alive with motion. Brown-clad Imperials rushed through the narrow streets, herding panicked civilians like cattle through canyons of tall, thatched houses. Overhead, IAF interceptors roared through the air, seeking out possible targets, and - because General Celes had banned air strikes - relaying their location to the forces on the ground. Magitek titans thundered through the mayhem carefully, spotlights sweeping over the crowd, loudspeakers blaring: 

"Return to your homes. Give up any Returners and you will not be harmed." 

The takeover was, by all accounts, going splendidly. There had been almost no warning for the troops garrisoned in South Figaro, thanks to the deaths of several of their watchmen. Once the Figarian soldiers realized an attack was under way, the Imperials were already battering down the gates of the city. Faced with an opponent that both outnumbered and outgunned them and backed into a corner, the troops had little choice but to surrender immediately or be destroyed. 

After that, the invasion had progressed smoothly. The civilians of the town followed Imperial commands quickly enough once they saw the first dozen or so houses burned to the ground. While they were currently stampeding through the streets, their actions were only a result of fear, not any desire to resist. They were already broken. The only ones standing in the way of complete control now were these resistance fighters, these Returners. Those bastards must have a hundred different safehouses in this town, and uncovering and flushing out every one was proving to be costly for the Imperials. 

The squad leader touched his green uniform, absently fingering the lieutenant's bars there. Command wasn't what it was cracked up to be, wasn't the glorious job it had seemed when he left Tzen for the Imperial Academy. Half of his men were dead, and he might soon be joining them. 

Thoughts of death and mortality were swept aside temporarily as he spotted the man standing at the end of the street, surrounded by his own personal guard. Even at this distance, even with the other's face lit only by the intermittent flashes of Magitek weaponry firing a few streets over, the young Imperial still recognized him. 

Boaz Almeda was something of an Imperial success story. He had come from the gutters of Vector itself and had enlisted in the army at an early age. Valiant service in the Tzen and Maranda campaigns had elevated him to his current position of commander, and the buzz about him was that it would not be long before he reached the top. He exemplified all the traits desired in an Imperial soldier; ambition, skill, leadership ability, and a certain cold, informal cruelty. 

Now, Almeda was stalking down the street towards him with his bodyguards, the Red Falcons, in tow. He appeared none too pleased, if the grimace on his face or the look in his eyes was any indication. In contrast, the men around him were blank-faced and grim in red and black, their eyes constantly darting back and forth for any sign of danger to their commander. 

"Who is in command here?" Almeda demanded as he walked up, his red cloak billowing about him. He stood in the open, apparently unconcerned about the Returners lurking across the street. 

"I- I am, sir," the squad leader said, saluting shakily. 

"I just wanted to know who was responsible for this debacle. I notice half your unit is gone." 

"Yes, sir... the Returners set up an ambush-" 

Almeda sighed, put his hand to his face, and shook his head from side to side. "I try," he said, "I really do. General Celes and I formulate an attack plan, my agents spread chaos in the garrison and open the town gates, I force the town army to surrender, I lead you in against virtually no resistance.... and you...." He pointed a finger at the squad leader's breastplate. "_You can't even deal with one paltry group of Returners?_" 

"I'm sorry, sir, but they were concealed, it - it was dark, sir." 

"Oh, I see. It was dark. Tell me, lieutenant, do you still sleep with a stuffed moogle? If the answer is no, then the dark should hold no fear for you. Ultimately, I guess it's a toss-up as to whether you're gutless, simply incompetent, or both. But that hardly matters. Let me show you how it's done." 

With that, Almeda pulled two grenades from the belt he had looped about his waist. Calmly, he walked halfway across the street, depressed the firing triggers, and lobbed them through the yawning doorway. Then, he turned back to the gathered Imperials. 

"You have bio-bombs. I suggest you start using them." From the doorway there came a long, low hiss, followed by a series of screams. "See? They work." 

"But sir..." the lieutenant protested. "General Celes said not to use them. We might gas civilians, even women and children." 

"And where is General Celes now?" Almeda said, sweeping his arms out. "Hitting the bottle, I expect, since I certainly don't see her _here_. You can follow her orders and die if you wish. I, however, value your lives more than those of my enemies. Perhaps you and she should start doing the same." 

"You... you bastards..." the voice came from the doorway, and they all turned to see a wounded Returner standing there, leaning heavily against the wall for support. Every orifice in his face was leaking blood and he looked, at best, minutes from death's door, but the heavy autocrossbow in his hands seemed none the worse for wear. A well-aimed burst or two could tear the gathered Imperials to pieces. 

Almeda stepped towards the man calmly, his hands dropping to his side. The Returner tried to lift his weapon to fire, but his shaking hands did not seem to want to obey him, and the barrel remained pointed at the ground. Then, in one lightning-fast motion, the commander drew his sword and buried it halfway to the hilt in the man's chest. 

The stricken resistance fighter gave one short groan as the autocrossbow dropped from nerveless fingers and clattered against the cobblestones. With a smile of contempt, Almeda brought one foot up and kicked the Returner in the midsection, sending his corpse sliding off the blade and toppling back down the stairs. 

"Honestly," the red-haired man said as he turned around and began to fastidiously clean the blood from his sword with a rag, "Do I have to do _everything_ myself?" 

______________________________________________________________ 

Near the center of the Northern Continent, the Koltz Mountains split the earth like great stone teeth, rearing out of the land around them almost defiantly. Bordered by the nation of Figaro to the west and south, the city of Narshe to the northwest, Nikeah to the northeast, and the great expanse of the Aryth Ocean to the east, the mountain range enjoyed a great variety of scenery and touched a great many lives. 

But it was most influential upon the lives of the men and women that called it home. Hidden deep within a mountain valley and carved into the very stone of the mountains themselves was the stronghold of the resistance, Returner HQ, the cradle of freedom. The place, Banon said, from which the Returners would arise to overthrow the Empire and spread liberty to the Southern Continent. 

They were nice sentiments, and Alice wanted very badly to believe them. Still, sometimes it was hard to believe in a glamorous cause when everyone associated it seemed so very unglamourous. It was difficult to imagine overthrowing the Empire when you could scarcely track down any soap or time to take a bath. 

Of course, King Edgar had certainly been very glamorous. And he had talked to her, _kissed_ her hand! Though she was almost twenty, she felt herself wanting to lapse into the titters of a schoolgirl at the very thought. The phrase "I'll never wash this hand again!" swept through her mind, and honestly, considering the sudden, panicked rationing at Returner HQ since news of the invasion, she might wait a long time before she had to make that decision. 

"Are still thinking about him?" the voice came from behind her, heavy and mocking. 

She turned around and shot a glare at the young man leaning in the entryway of the Returner hideout. In response, he only smiled and ran a hand through his short brown hair. "I wouldn't get too excited if I were you," he continued. "They say he _does_ hit on anything that moves." 

"You're just jealous." She said, lifting her nose into the air. 

"Not because of _you_. Now, that Maria I hear he was romancing..." 

Alice sighed and turned away from him, looking up at the night sky. It was bad enough she had to stand watch tonight, and Portose's presence always aggravated any situation. At least the stars were pretty, especially up here in the clear air of the mountains. Still, the tradeoff was less than fair, given that Portose wouldn't just let her stand here and enjoy the scenery. He had to be constantly running his mouth. 

_Your parents _told _you it wouldn't be glamorous._

Her father had strictly forbidden her to join the Returners, but she had wanted it so very badly, her heart full of romantic dreams and fueled by a thousand fairy tales. It had all seemed so fantastic then, and nothing could kill her desire. And so, when he departed on another of his trading trips, her own departure was not long in following. 

Her mother had cried, begged, pleaded for her to stay, and that was even worse. But something pushed her to close the door and leave her home in South Figaro, and after that there could be no going back. She had heard from a friend of a friend of a friend of the family that her parents had sold the house and moved to a bigger one in Nikeah. She wondered if the move represented the permanent severing of ties that she feared it did. 

Well, at least that meant that she didn't have to worry about them now that South Figaro had been invaded. Many of the other Returners had family in the town, and the whole base seemed to be on pins and needles. 

One of the stars above seemed to detach itself from the sky and move, looping slowly against the dark backdrop and growing ever larger and larger. Alice blinked, then rubbed her eyes and looked again. It was still there. 

"What's that?" she asked. Her hands began to fold themselves into fists almost of their own accord, the metal cufflinks biting into her palm. 

"What's what?" Portose said as he moved from his position in the doorway to stand beside her. 

"That." She pointed, and his eyes followed her finger to the star, which was now twice as large as it had been and still moving. It had begun to take on a halo like an oil lamp on a foggy night, but this halo was not a dull yellow, but a soft rose. 

"I don't know, but it seems to be getting closer." For once, he sounded serious, and his autocrossbow was already out of its holster. "Might be some sort of new Imperial aircraft. We'd better report it before..... b-before....." 

But Alice never heard what he was going to say, for at that moment she turned away from him and back towards the object in the sky, and she saw that it was growing brighter... 

She felt it first as a simple stirring of the air, an almost pleasant breath of warmth. Then the heat grew stronger and she realized that she was burning, her clothes bursting into flame, her hair smoking with the stench of sulfur and gunpowder mixed together. Portose was burning too, screaming like a dying goose as he tried in vain to beat out the orange flame-serpents that writhed across his body. She opened her mouth join him, and strangely, the words that tore forth hurt more than the searing fire. 

_"Muh-Muh-MAMA!"_

Screaming for her mother. What an unheroic thing to do. 

Her blood began to boil and she fell to the burning grass, the cufflinks tumbling from her fist and bouncing away to melt into an amorphous lump. Briefly, the thought of firing back occurred to her, but it was too late for that. She could only lie there and burn like the ugly, useless piece of coal she was. That all the Returners were. One last, fleeting thought raced across her sizzling brain. 

_What an unglamourous way to die._

______________________________________________________________ 

Terra gave a short, reluctant sigh as the small amount of magic she had summoned fled from her. Below, the two humans still struggled feebly in their burning death throes, but she scarcely noticed them. In the wake of releasing her magic, she felt, as she always did, as if someone had torn a hole in her soul, leaving only emptiness in its place. She consoled herself, however, with the fact that she would soon be reunited with the power. 

It seemed that some humans had occupied this mountain. It was of no import. They would die, as all humans would. They would simply have the honor of being among the first to fall to her magic. 

She would use it to smash apart the vile anthill before her and seize the glimmering prize that lay inside. The prize that had called out to her over vast miles and summoned her into its presence so that she might partake of what it had to offer, make its power hers. Now that it had brushed her mind, touched her esper core, she knew she would die before she lived without it another day. 

Thought became action, and the seemingly inexhaustible fount of magic within her core tightened and spewed forth power. It began as a flame low in her chest and then flared out, traveling to the extremities of her body in a million bright, probing tendrils that infused every pore and nerve ending with their splendor. 

_Ah, the sweet feel of destruction held at bay._

But not for long. 

The two fireballs leapt forth with scarcely any preamble; one moment, they were not there, the next, one was flying from the delicate fingertips of each hand. They tumbled almost lazily through the air, a pair of tiny orbs no bigger than pearls. Yet as they drew further away from her, they gained speed and expanded in flowers of fire like explosions barely held in check. When at last the magic projectiles struck home against the mountainside above the entrance to Returner HQ, each was easily twenty feet in diameter. 

The entire mountain shuddered as it was enveloped in a cloud of fire. The magic tore at its ancient form brutally and unmercifully, blowing away in seconds what nature had spent millennia shaping. Shards of stone tore through the air and whole sections of the rock face broke free and crashed to earth in ragged chunks as the mountain trembled beneath the assault. 

From the ruin below her she heard screams of all varieties; pain, outrage, terror. It seemed she had angered the ants. Perhaps at least they could provide her with some minor entertainment. 

She was totally unprepared for the blast that hit her from behind and sent her spiraling forward. Fortunately, it was a weak push, nothing more than a stinging slap. A full-force attack against her back could very well have destroyed her. 

Terra righted herself in midair, seething with anger. Her attacker had made a fatal mistake in not finishing her off. She would make them suffer dearly for that error. 

"Terra! What are you _doing_?" It was the esper that had confronted her at the Research Center, the one with the vaguely familiar look about him. She hadn't even been aware he'd escaped the other espers' destruction. At least that was a mistake she could correct very quickly. 

"What have they done to you?" he asked, his emerald hair whipping about him in the wind as he hovered in the air before her. That color... "Why are you doing these things?" 

"They have made me stronger," she answered, clenching her right hand and letting sparks dance on her fingertips. "And I am doing these things because I am an esper. Not all of us have forgotten our glorious purpose." 

Her arm flew out suddenly, and a tongue of flame stabbed out at him. He swerved to one side, narrowly avoiding its touch. Still, he struck back only with words. What a peculiar fool this one was. 

"You've forgotten plenty, Terra!" he shouted. "Don't you remember your own father?" 

"Espers have no fathers!" she screamed back defiantly. Something tickled the back of her mind, an image of his face before her and a chubby hand reaching towards it... 

_No!_ It was a deception of some kind, a feeble attempt to attack on a mental front since he realized a physical attack would prove useless. 

"You're only half-esper," he continued, stretching his arms out toward her. "I'm your father." 

_"LIAR!"_ she shrieked. How dare he? How _dare _he? She was the ultimate esper, willing to indulge in every action her instincts demanded. How dare this failure, this weakling, question her power and her background? 

Terra's teeth ground together and her lungs seemed to catch on fire as she was swallowed by overwhelming rage. Her mind swam in a blood-red lake and the world seemed to fracture before her eyes. 

"Your mother was hum-ugh!" 

She screamed again and threw herself upon him, all thoughts of strategy and magical combat gone now. She wrapped her hands around his throat and began to move them inexorably to one side, seeking to snap his neck and silence his blasphemous tongue forever. 

He began to fight back now, but she ignored the blows that suddenly rained upon her, her entire being focused into the task of killing her opponent. Gradually, she became aware that tears were running from her eyes and she was screaming the same thing over and over, screeching a proclamation to the heavens and to herself as she slew this liar that dared defile her heritage. 

_"I AM AN ESPER!"_

_"I AM AN ESPER!"_

_"I AM AN ESPER!"_

______________________________________________________________ 

Ramuh had been right. 

When they had felt the stab of power, it had nearly toppled them from their flight, but they had managed to remain aloft. He had wanted to seek out the source, but Ramuh had said that it would be safer to continue on towards the weaker source that he had sensed. For once, Maduin had disagreed and raced off with all the power he could muster, telling the others that he would meet them later. Apparently too weak or too apathetic to give chase, they had let him go. 

Of course, his motivation to seek the power source was not sheer curiosity. A surge that powerful must have branched out across the world and shocked every magic-user still alive. Surely at least some of them would seek it out... and Terra might be one of those seekers. He could find his daughter, talk to her, convince her- 

_She's going to kill you, Maduin. Don't let this go on._

As he tried to wrench his daughter's fingers from around his throat and strained his neck muscles against her relentless twisting, Maduin came to the very harsh and saddening realization that he would probably have to kill her. 

It was not a pleasant thought at all, and an hour ago, even after viewing her slaughter of the espers, he would never have considered it. To raise his hand against someone he loved so much and strike the killing blow was unthinkable. 

But now that he had seen her madness at length, he realized that there was no hope for her. His daughter was gone, replaced by a walking mass of rudimentary esper instinct that sought only to destroy. He had never seen another esper so bloodthirsty, not even during the War of the Magi, not even when they had massed and swarmed Calmar, dying in great hordes against its snow-white walls in the dead of winter... 

He pulled himself back to the present with difficulty, realizing his mind was wandering as he drifted farther and farther from consciousness. If this went on much longer, she was going to snap his neck like a twig. 

Maduin thought then of her tiny form in the cradle, of Madonna rocking her to sleep. Of tender looks and things born of love. 

The demon that was Not His Daughter looked at him with dark, malevolent eyes and a fanged grin as it strove to end his life. Deep within that creature, he imagined he saw Terra's tiny form, mortally wounded but still alive somehow. Her eyes focused on his face, begging, pleading for release. 

At least if he killed the demon, Terra would have peace. He might never get his daughter back, but at least he could rescue her from this monstrosity. Later he could weep. Now... he had to kill. He had to be hard as forged mythril. 

Of course, perhaps he was getting ahead of himself. As hard as it was to decide to kill the demon, carrying out that decision was likely to be even more difficult. Even at full strength, he wasn't sure he could stop it, and he was still horribly weak. Still, he had to try, for Terra's sake. 

He fastened one hand over each of its shoulders and concentrated, willing the magic to come forth. He felt the power flare up, and despaired for a moment at its weakness. It seemed nothing but a spark when before it had been a roaring bonfire, a trickle where once it had been a river. It was next to nothing, but it would have to be enough. There was no other way. 

_Zzzzzzzt!_

Ter- the demon - gave a shriek as lightning emerged from Maduin's fingertips and wrapped its body in a brilliant electric spiderweb. It loosened its grip on his neck, probably more out of surprise than pain, and he took the opportunity to break free. Backpedaling in midair, he charged another spell and then released a cloud of ice fragments at his opponent. He'd been hoping for spikes, but shards seemed to work well enough; the demon recoiled and threw its arms over its face to protect its eyes as the spell enveloped it. 

"So....." the monster said in a deeper version of his daughter's voice. "There is a failed esper who wants to live." It pulled a jagged hunk of ice from its forearm in a spray of indigo blood, then grinned in anticipation. 

Maduin said nothing. He could not afford to waste any energy on speech, not if he had any hope of surviving. 

The demon tried something new this time, conjuring a greenish cloud of mist that he barely managed to scatter with a quick wind spell. Poison. It had diversified its abilities, then. 

As if to drive the point home, the creature released a scorching hail of tiny meteorites at him. He dove to get out of the way of the onslaught, but was not quite quick enough; stabbing pain shot through his leg as one of the white-hot projectiles buried itself in his thigh. He grabbed it and ripped it free, headless of the protest raised by torn and sizzling flesh. At least the wound had been cauterized. 

He had to get back on the offensive. There was no way he could win a battle of attrition; his waning power could barely hold off his opponent's attacks as it was, and he was weakening by the second. His only hope was to strike a quick, fatal blow while he still had the chance. 

Once more, a blast of electricity flew from his fingertips and struck the demon, wreathing it in electrical discharge. The creature took a few seconds to shake off the blow, but hardly seemed hurt. It threw out its arms and countered with a focused envelope of wind that pinned him in place. 

"You are finished," the demon said, its eyes flashing at him. Perhaps it was right. It was charging its magic again, producing so much energy that he could feel the power spiking as if he were summoning it himself. This was it, then. The deathblow. 

Closing his eyes, Maduin focused his own power, weaving it in a complex design, pouring every erg left into one last, desperate shield. He had just set it into place when the demon's blast burst forth in a column of blinding white light and slammed into him full force. 

To his credit, the magical barrier held; anything else would have meant total annihilation. However, even though his shield blunted the deadly blast, it could do nothing about the sheer power of the blow. The awesome mass of magic struck him dead center and hurled him backward like a stuffed toy. The air split in a sonic boom as he javelined through the night sky, the world passing in a crazy blur. 

The last thing he saw before he crashed into the side of a distant mountain was his daughter's face, still pleading for his help. Once more, he had failed her. 

_Terra.... I'm.... sor-_

Impact. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Terra screamed with savage satisfaction as she hurled the blasphemous esper that had dared question her through the air. He tore through the night sky as a luminous streak and crashed into a mountain several miles away with a thunderous detonation. 

_That_ should silence him. 

His death was not enough. Her mind and spirit still recoiled at his horrible accusation, and she felt as if she might break down into tears at any moment. She was an esper. Of course she was. She was an esper, and espers were made to destroy. She would prove her identity by her actions. 

She would tear them all to pieces, drink blood, slaughter the world, kill the universe kill them all and bathe in the ashes she would- 

_Chockchockchockchock!_

On the ground below, humans dressed in red and green were swarming about. A number of the ants had lined up in neat rows and were unleashing volley after volley of shots into the air in a vain attempt to hit something. 

Their efforts were laughable; those few crossbow bolts that did not fall short of her were easily deflected by the rosy nimbus of her personal shield. Still, they were quite annoying. She'd have to do something about them. 

Laughing, she brought her arms to her sides and dove towards her antagonists, the wind whipping her face in a harsh caress. Her entire body was still singing with magical power, and a mere thought was enough to send a fireball racing down ahead of her. The flaming orb struck the ground in the midst of the humans and exploded, showering fire in all directions. 

She landed among them just as the first screams of pain started. It was always pleasant to kill with vocal accompaniment. 

Stepping through their disintegrating ranks, Terra lashed out, something within her still sobbing desperately even as she laughed. She would show them an esper. She would show them all what it was like to die to her glorious race. She would show them elegance in Death. 

She raked them with her magic, burning them to cinders, freezing their blood to ice, letting lightning dance across their jerking bodies. Some ran, some tried to return fire, some threw themselves on the ground and begged the goddesses for mercy. All died. 

Dozens more boiled out at her from the entrance of the shattered mountain, and she met them gleefully. The first ranks died quickly to blasts of flame, but the ones behind pushed on, and soon she was swallowed by a tide of humanity, all of them hacking and slashing at her in a desperate attempt to bring her down. She fought on, totally absorbed in the killing now, not caring or knowing if her protective wards could stand up to so much abuse. 

One particularly brave ant moved in behind her and slashed at her head with his broadsword. It was a simple matter to sidestep, pirouette, and slam her fist through his torso. As the blood sprayed liberally, she turned and lashed another across the face, breaking his neck with a wet snap. Grabbing another by the head, she channeled flames down into his writhing form and threw him to his friends, bowling a half dozen of them over. Then, reaching out to the fire, she pulled it in, spinning it around herself rapidly and igniting all who approached. 

_This is who I am,_ she thought warmly as she crushed a Returner's skull into messy fragments. _This is what I am._

_I am an esper._

________________________________________________ _____________ 

The left engine sputtered and coughed fire, causing the bulky Imperial transport craft to lurch in midair. 

Cid leaned hard against the control stick, sweat pouring down his face as he fought to keep the ship in the air. Cursed thing had been acting up almost ever since he left Vector. It _would_ be his luck to pick an apparently defective model as his personal escape craft. That, or he had sucked a bird into one of the gyros. Of course, it didn't really matter why or how the engine had malfunctioned; he still had to deal the problem either way. 

The box-shaped aircraft was currently limping through the air over what he guessed -and hoped- were the plains of Figaro. He had passed over a thin ribbon of coastline a few minutes before, and now a sea of grass stretched below in all directions, undulating in the night breeze. 

Somewhere nearby was the city of South Figaro, where an Imperial attack should already be underway. Where, hopefully, he would find Celes. She was the only one he could trust, the only one who perhaps could stop the girl and put the shattered Empire back together again. 

But would that be for the best? The Empire had, after all, fallen victim to its own creation. If not for Kefka and Gestahl's mad desire for power, Vector would still be in one piece. If not for his own experiments, the world wouldn't be hovering on the brink of another magical war. Should a nation like that really be rebuilt? 

Cid realized that he no longer cared about patriotism, about knowledge, about learning. The past week full of running, dodging, and terror had worn his ideals to the nub, leaving him with only the most basic of desires. He only wanted to survive, to have someone else take charge, take care of things, tell him what to do. He was so used to following orders that he scarcely knew how to think for himself any more, and he wasn't sure he wanted to. 

_Celes will know what to do, _he told himself over and over. _Celes will fix this._

A high whine came from the console, and Cid looked down to see a dozen warning lights flashing. The whine spiked, and the ailing engine coughed one last time and then fell silent. The Magitek scientist cursed, more frustrated at the machine than afraid. 

Then the transport began to fall from the sky, and fear returned very quickly. 

The nose dipped, and the bulky aircraft turned belly-up almost lazily as the right engine, too, vomited sparks and then died. The ship hung still for a moment, then dropped into a dive and began to spiral faster and faster. Cid was pressed back in his seat by the sheer force of gravity, holding back his bile with some difficulty as the world turned into a jerking, spinning madhouse. Spots danced before his eyes and he was rather distantly aware that he was about to lose consciousness. That truly would be the end. 

One last, desperate pull on the throttle brought the ship out of its spiral with a sickening lurch, but keeping it in the air was now out of the question. His only hope was to make a crash landing. Which would be easy enough; the difficulty would be surviving said landing. 

Twin plumes of fire streamed from the blasted engines as the transport continued its steep angle descent towards the Figaro Plains. Relentlessly, it kept a straight course despite all his efforts, a determined osprey diving towards sweet carrion. 

Screaming, Cid braced for impact, unable to tear his eyes away from the ground that rushed up at him. It seemed that he could see a Death's Head imprinted on the waving grass, grinning in welcome. 

_Not now! _his mind railed. _Not after everything else.... not this way!_

Impact. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Behind her stretched a trail of burned and broken corpses. Splattered about her was a fine red mist that spoke of spilled blood and shattered bone. Before her was what she had come all this way to find. It reached down the passageways of shattered rock and called to her in gentle, musical tones. 

She approached it slowly, reverently, tears streaming down her face as she drew closer and closer. Around her, Returner HQ had fallen silent, and the only sounds were her soft footsteps and the mental chorus of the prize. 

Terra stopped short as she entered the small, circular chamber where the thing that had called out to her rested. It was a statue, throbbing light, radiating so much power that it almost burst her mind with silvery trickles of energy. She thought she might collapse at any moment from sensory overload, but she still wanted to get closer to that power, _had_ to. She only barely managed to repress the urge to throw herself around it and gorge herself on its magic. 

Instead, she smiled and whispered, "I'm here. I came for you." 

Then, she reached out and touched the statue with the tip of one bloodstained talon. 

The effect was sudden and severe. The light blazed forth from the statue's surface, and suddenly she was filled with the power of the statue, pure bliss knifing through her body and her mind. 

_So..... much...... _More than she had expected even after the first contact. 

The tone expanded in her brain, filling her with the truth behind the magic, and she smiled even wider, her entire body shuddering. So that was the secret... that was what it was for. 

It was the womb of destruction. It was the way she would fulfill her esper directive and turn all into a smoking plain of ash. But she would no longer be alone... 

Her finger dropped away from the statue, and she fell to her knees with temporary weakness. Still shaking from the intensity of the contact, she managed to lift her head up to gaze up at the silvery form, her eyes full of affection. 

"I want to know," she whispered, "What it feels like to murder an entire world." 

The dragons pulsed with energy. 

"Teach me." 

______________________________________________________________ 

Next Chapter: Figaro, Figaro, FIIIIIIIIIIIGARRRROOOOOOOOOOOO! 


	8. Chapter Eight

Dark Empress Chapter 8

**_Last Chapter: _**

_The invasion of South Figaro continued. Terra and Maduin, summoned by the magical emanations from the statue at Returner HQ, met and fought a desperate battle, with Terra as the victor. Cid's transport ship crashed on the Figarian plains. Terra devastated the Returner force and gained control of the statue, having discovered its true purpose._

**Chapter 8**

In South Figaro, life went on. 

Imperial occupation, annoyance that it was, did not change the basic facts of daily existence. Gold still had to be procured, work still had to be done, and bellies still had to be filled. So, even under the shadow of Magitek titans, even surrounded by patrolling troops in full uniform, people carried on about their business. 

And, surprisingly, business was good. 

Tavern owners, in particular, were raking in the gold pieces, and every corner seemed to have a merchant hawking his "exotic northern wares" to a dull-witted Imperial or two. If there was a certain amount of wariness in the crowds in the street markets, it seemed to be counteracted by the promise of raw profit. Perhaps things would sour in a few weeks when the Imperials had tired of such diversions or when Imperial Taxes were levied, but for now it seemed as if the town had been invaded by a particularly well-armed and wealthy horde of tourists. 

Of course, these tourists, like most, weren't overly polite. 

"Out of the way!" the green-clad trooper said, shoving the two merchants aside as he made his way down the middle of the wide cobblestone street. The men stumbled, the merchandise in their packs jangling as they tried to keep their footing. 

"Imperial dogs," one of the merchants hissed, looking back over his shoulder at the receding figure. "Have they no manners?" 

"Cyan, I told you to be quiet," the other whispered, adjusting his turban with a look of annoyance. "If any Imperials hear that accent of yours, they'll know we're not Nikeah merchants for sure. Besides, we already know the Imperials have about as much manners as they do brains, and fortunately that isn't much." 

"My apologies, Sir Locke." 

"No problem. Just remember, you're a deaf-mute." 

They resumed their trek through the city, Locke in the lead. The treasure hunter sighed as he made his way through the snarl of streets that crisscrossed the South Figaro wharves, looking for any sign of Returner activity. The sun had not yet reached its zenith in the sky, and yet it already seemed like a very long day, and already the fresh fish spilling from every street stand they passed were beginning to smell rather ripe. The fish gazed up at him with glazed eyes as he walked by, and he was left with the very disturbing impression that they were about to start laughing at his plight. 

Problems had begun scarcely an hour after the Returner ship had pulled away from the coast of Doma. The ship had proven itself to be just the piece of junk it appeared, and as it had limped across the Aryth ocean on feeble engines, Locke realized that they would never reach South Figaro before the Imperials did. He had been right. 

Once the ship had pulled into a secluded cove some distance from South Figaro, there had been the task of convincing Duane to stay behind and the task of preparing Cyan to go along. Locke had wanted to refuse the samurai utterly, as it would have been safer for all of them, but the man's determination to avenge his family would not be quelled. Locke found himself comparing that determination to his own desire to protect, and had sympathized. Deciding Cyan would fare far better with him as a guide than without, he had scrounged up another merchant's disguise and hoped for the best. 

Sneaking into the city had eaten at his nerves, but truly wasn't that hard; a smile and a faked Nikeah accent, a few gold pieces pressed into the appropriate palm, and an Imperial trooper opened the gates willingly. 

The true problem had come once they were within and he had started searching out former Returner strongholds. They were empty, often burned. Secret signs were obliterated. Contacts had simply disappeared. It was beginning to look like the Imperial sweep had cleared out every Returner in the city. If that were the case, he didn't know what they would do. 

At least he could console himself with the fact that the suit he had gone to such lengths to capture was safely away on its journey to Nikeah, and after that, Returner HQ. Perhaps once Edgar's engineers had a look at it, they could really begin to understand how those damn Magitek devices worked, and maybe even make some of their own. Of course, there was the question of who would pilot them, and with South Figaro under Imperial control and the Returner cells decimated, the pool of likely candidates seemed to be diminishing quickly. 

The bright canopy over the street stall was familiar, but the man beneath it was not. Still, this was one of the few leads left that they hadn't checked. So, with some trepidation, the treasure hunter stepped up to the front of the stall and called to the man within. 

"Do you have any Jidoorian snapper?" he asked, the well-rehearsed code phrase falling easily off his tongue. 

"What?" The man in the stall glared at him from under bushy eyebrows. "Are you some kinda idiot? They're all upstream this time a'year, and there ain't a man alive that's going to venture up into them monster-infested mountains just for a fish." 

"Oh! My mistake..." Locke said, not missing a beat. "My wife adores them." 

"Eh," the merchant grunted. "Buy some of these tuna. They're a lot cheaper and sturdier than them prissy snappers." He gestured to a deep bin at the corner of the stall where flies buzzed in abundance. 

"Erm.... no thanks," Locke averted his eyes from the gruesome spectacle. "My friend and I will just be going." Quickly, they retreated from the stall and made their way further down the road. 

"Damn it, that sure wasn't Jortul or any of his associates," Locke muttered, almost to himself. "And he was one of the last ones on my list." 

The two men continued down the lively streets, passing through the tightly-packed crowds with no small amount of jostling. Leaving the dead fish and the wharfside stalls behind, they entered an even seedier neighborhood where the buildings lining the streets were little more than glorified shacks and the gutters overflowed with refuse. 

"The Mythril District," Locke said by way of explanation to the silent Cyan. "One of the town's embarrassments. Edgar's been trying to clean it up forever with little success, but it does have its uses. There are so many underhanded dealings going on here, our people can sneak around all they want and still fit in." 

The neighborhood only got worse as they moved on. Soon, some of the shacks were replaced with rough bars and drunks joined the trash in the gutter. Locke noted that quite a few of the figures slumped in the streets were wearing Imperial uniforms - it seemed that the more economic trooper preferred cheap northern ale to expensive northern wine. A number of women stood on the corners or lounged against the buildings, their clothing and their bearing speaking clearly about their method of garnering income. 

"Hey, handsome!" One of them shouted, looking at Cyan. "Wanna little fun?" She twirled a curl of dirty blonde hair around her fingertips. 

Before the samurai could respond with indignation and break his enforced silence, Locke answered her catcall. "He can't hear you. He's a deaf-mute." 

"So?" Her smile was missing a few teeth. "Nothin' sez we gotta _talk._" She thrust her narrow hips at them and giggled, but there was something desperate in the sound. 

"Just ignore her," he whispered to Cyan. "That is, unless you want to spare a word to the goddesses for her sake." 

As they passed, the treasure hunter reached into his pocket, dug out a small bag of gold pieces, and tossed it to her without a word. Maybe at least that would keep her from selling herself for a day or so. He thought he heard a muffled gasp behind him as she looked within the bag, but he did not turn around. Then, they turned a corner and she was out of sight. 

There it was again, that blind desire to protect. It seemed to be beyond his control, and he was helpless to fight it. Whether he was faced with a Jidoorian noblewoman, a fellow Returner, or a common street whore, he still felt the need to shelter them from harm. He would never let what had happened to her happen to another woman, not if he could help it. 

_Rachel....._

Fortunately, thoughts of the past were repressed quickly when he looked up and saw that they had reached their destination. Before them was a scruffy little building made out of wood and scrap metal, with a tiny, crooked doorway. A battered sign swung above the entrance, proclaiming in faded letters that this place was "The Stray Cat." This was one stray, Locke thought, that not even the kindest little girl would want to take in. 

"Er, maybe I should go in alone," he said, scratching his chin. He wasn't sure how Cyan would handle the place. 

"There's no need to go in at all," the voice said, flat and icy. "Flo's not there. Of course, she didn't seem like a very good informant anyway. And, I must admit, I'm curious about why you feel the need to speak to your deaf companion." 

Both men froze in shock at the sound. Footsteps sounded behind them, and Locke saw a shadow fall across the pavement in front of him, obliterating his own. 

"Shitshit_shit_!" he swore under his breath, his hand creeping into his tunic and gripping the handle of the dirk there even as he turned slowly around. Cyan, too, was reaching for the handle of his concealed katana, his face set in determination. 

They had been found out, but they weren't finished yet. Whoever this was, he was about to find out that they were not easy prey. 

______________________________________________________________ 

She had always been such a tidy little girl. 

Even without being told, she liked to keep things in their proper place. When she was growing up in the steel cradle of Vector, he had never had to tell her to clean her tiny room once. She always seemed to keep it neat and to enjoy doing so. 

But as Cid stepped past the pair of guards and entered the room in the Figarian manor house that served as her quarters, he found himself staring in shock. For whatever various colorful adjectives he might think up to describe Celes now, "tidy" was certainly not one that came to mind. 

The general was slumped across a table in the middle of the room, her cheek flat against the wood, her eyes blank and unfocused, her hair spread out across the oaken surface. In her hand was bottle half-full of blue liquid, and more empty bottles were strewn about the table and the floor. The rest of the room was in similar disarray; the bed unmade, chairs overturned, clothing scattered haphazardly. 

"'lo, Cid," she said, waving her hand in welcome. Her words were slightly slurred. "What are you doing here?" 

And then, wonder of wonders, he didn't blurt out the news right away. Instead, he heard himself say, "What are _you_ doing, Celes? It's not even noon!" 

"This is my first bottle today," she said, suddenly defensive. "I need it." 

"And I need you in your right mind! This is serious!" 

Panic washed over him, shaking him to the core. He had spent all of his energy trying to get to Celes in the hope she could make things right. He had crisscrossed Vector, escaped the esper girl, survived one hell of a crash, and navigated the Figarian Plains just to reach her. But now that he had reached his goal, he found not the strong, capable girl he had raised, but a burned-out drunk. 

For a moment, he wondered if he was imagining this, if his escape from the flaming remains of the transport and his slog across the plains was nothing but a fever dream. Perhaps he was still trapped within the wreckage, bleeding slowly to death. Perhaps he had died and gone to his own personal hell. 

"What's wrong?" she said, rising and walking towards him. She hardly stumbled, and hope fluttered in his heart. Maybe some of the old Celes was left after all. 

There was nothing to do but say it outright. Any delay would only prolong the agony needlessly. So he told her, beginning with the truth behind her infusion and Magitek power, then of Kefka's demands, and finally of the destruction of Vector and his own flight to the north to find her. The story was a long time in the telling, but by the time he was finished, Celes looked almost sober. 

For a long while, there was only silence, and when Celes finally spoke, her voice was quiet and subdued and hardly slurred at all. 

"Cid.... this is just so much..." she said, walking over to stand by the narrow window. "I don't know what to think of this. I don't how you expect me to make it all better. I don't even know if I want to." She stared down at the busy street outside as if she expected to find the answer there. 

"Celes... what are you...?" 

"Maybe the Empire deserves to be destroyed." She looked back over her shoulder at him. "I wouldn't shed a tear. Maybe they were asking for something like this to happen with all their experiments." She closed her eyes and shuddered, as if remembering something. "Maybe you and I deserve it, too." 

"I think I understand how you feel, dear." Cid sighed, looking down at his hands. "I'm afraid I've had a lot of my illusions dispelled recently, as well. I've come to view myself in a very different light. And for what it's worth... I'm sorry about... how your life has turned out. I really didn't want this for you. I've been so blind..." 

"You don't have to apologize. You and Leo were the only ones who even cared. To everyone else, I was nothing but a puppet." She shifted her gaze to the table where empty bottles sprawled, and Cid realized that whether she knew it or not, something was still pulling her strings. 

"There's more than the Empire at stake here, though, Celes," he continued."This girl... Terra... is totally insane. She decimated Vector, the Imperial Capital, the most well-defended city on the planet, almost single-handedly. I don't think she'll stop there, and I don't think anyone but you can stop her. Maybe at least if you- if we end this, we can make amends for our other actions." 

"You seem awfully confident of my abilities," she said. "Especially considering my condition." She waved an arm to indicate the disordered state of her chambers. 

"There's no one I trust more." He forced a wan smile. "You're in command of the largest remaining Imperial force. There are troops still in the other southern cities and a few prototypes in the eastern base. Leo has a sizeable group at Doma. If you gather support from them, perhaps we can do something..." 

"I'm not fit to command anyone." Celes lifted her hand in front of her face and stared at her fingertips as if something was written there. "I don't want to be part of the Empire. I don't want to be a killer anymore, Cid. I don't want... this. I don't know..." 

There was a scuffle of movement outside, and then door swung open with a crash. Cid and Celes whirled to look at the man who entered, his face curled up in a self-satisfied sneer. 

"That's very fortunate for you, general," Boaz Almeda said as he stepped into the room. His Falcons filed in behind him, their weapons drawn. "Because I am perfectly willing to make sure you're not burdened with the... _pressures_ of command any longer." 

______________________________________________________________ 

Locke was only split seconds away from burying his weapon in the man's chest when he happened to glance up at him. He stopped short just in time, the tip of the dagger quivering in the air a few inches away from the other's tunic. It was a good thing; while the man's clothes were those of a merchant and his hair was several shades darker, his facial features were quite familiar. Locke tucked the weapon back into its hiding spot, deciding it might be best not to assassinate a monarch. Especially one he usually called friend. 

"Well, someone's edgy today," the man said with a laugh. He did not seem overly perturbed by his brush with death. Cyan had sheathed his katana and was staring at the exchange in puzzlement. 

"You wouldn't think it was so funny if you had a few holes in you right now, Edgar." Locke hissed, looking up and down the street to make sure no one was near enough to overhear their conversation. If all their sneaking around had been ruined by Edgar's little outburst... 

"We're bound to attract attention if we stay here too much longer," Edgar pointed out, almost as if he had been reading Locke's mind. "I'm sure most of these people are too drunk or drugged to notice much, but I'd rather not risk it. Let's go someplace a little more private." 

The Mythril District, fortunately, had no shortage of dark, cramped alleys, and it took them only a few moments to secure one that was empty except for a few rats. As Cyan stood watch near the street, Locke leaned back against one of the alley's damp brick walls and turned to Edgar, his voice streaked with annoyance. 

"What was the meaning of that stunt, anyway, Edgar? And what the hell are you doing here?" 

"Just making sure you're staying on your toes. And I'm doing the same thing here that you are; looking for any sign of the Returners. Also, it's 'Gerad', at least as long as we're in town. I don't think it would do for Imperial eyes and ears to find me here." Inclining his head toward Cyan, Edgar asked, "So who's this, and why is he deaf?" 

"It's a long story," Locke said. "He's Cyan. We picked him up in Doma." 

"I hope he's not all you picked up in Doma." 

"No, E- _Gerad_, he's not. I got the damn thing, even though it nearly cost me my life. It's on its way to the HQ now." 

"Good, good," Edgar leaned back against the wall on the other side of the alley, his pack jangling. "So, any suggestions on what we should do next?" 

"Sir Locke," Cyan interrupted in a voice scarcely above a whisper, his eyes still roving the street from the mouth of the alley, "I am grateful for all of your help, but I cannot help but wonder how all this is bringing me closer to my goal. All we have done so far is wander aimlessly about." 

"Don't worry, you'll get your chance," Locke said, stepping away from the wall. "But there's no way we'll find Shadow alone unless he wants to be found. And I'd rather not have him expecting us. To make any headway here, we need some informers to help out." 

"Shadow? _The_ Shadow?" Edgar asked, his eyes widening. "I get the feeling I don't even want to know." 

"Cyan has someone to avenge," Locke said, attempting to cut off the conversation. He still didn't know how comfortable the samurai was talking about the death of his family, and in any case, now wasn't the time or the place. Smoothing the wrinkles out of the front of his tunic, he looked at the others. "We might as well search out the last few leads we have. Maybe we'll turn something up." 

Edgar shrugged. "Not likely. It seems like a clean sweep. Still, there's nothing to do but try." 

Locke shook his head. "I suppose there isn't. In any case, we should get a move on. Like you said, the longer we stand still, the more likely we are to draw attention." 

Their hearts heavy, the three men left the alley and continued their futile search through the city. 

______________________________________________________________ 

Celes's hand clenched her sword hilt with white-knuckle severity as Boaz Almeda and his men entered the room. With their harsh red and black uniforms, their drawn weapons, and their grim faces, the Falcons were like their namesake, cruel predators waiting to fall upon helpless prey. 

But she was not helpless. She might have been bathed in magic from sacrificed espers, she might have climbed a blood-slick ladder through the Imperial hierarchy, she might have burned away a good part of her soul at Maranda, but no matter how ill-gotten and unsavory her gains, they were real. She was not helpless. She was not prey. She was a fighter. 

"I don't know what you think you're doing, Almeda," she said, the sudden strength in her voice surprising even her. "But you're a fool if you thought it was going to be that easy. Call your men off or carry their corpses out later. Your choice." 

Almeda smirked, but motioned for his troops to stay where they were. "Such a change in attitude. I thought you were tired of killing." 

"I am. For you, though, I'll make an exception." 

"It's fortunate that I learned how to eavesdrop, you know," the red-haired commander said, that disgusting self-satisfied expression still on his face. "I heard quite a lot. Thank you, Cid, for your speed in getting here. It's helped me prepare for any more of Celes's deranged agents in advance. You look like hell, though." 

He turned to the Magitek scientist as if expecting a reply, but Cid just stammered. 

"Enough of your games, Almeda," Celes interrupted. "First, tell me what you're doing here. Then, tell me why I shouldn't kill you right now." 

"What I am doing here, Celes, is listening to the fabrications of a drunken madwoman. Ranting and raving about the fall of the Empire and how she is unfit to lead and how we should all be destroyed." 

"It's no lie!" Cid shouted. "I was there! I saw that thing.... I-" 

"I am astonished," Almeda said, cutting through Cid's protest. "This is one of the most horrific things I've ever seen in my life. General Celes, we thought we could trust you... so why did you do it?" He raised his right hand and made a sharp gesture. 

"Why did you kill Cid?" 

To Celes, time seemed to slow and fracture, splitting into a hundred separate instants devoid of sound or emotion. Her senses wrapped in layers of wool, she could only watch the nightmarish drama play out. She would remember this moment, she knew, for the rest of her life, and yet she was too stunned and too far away to stop it. 

The soldier stepped forward dreamily, his blade sweeping up and flaring brightly as the sunlight caught it and then slashing down in a steel blur. Blood splattered the floor, the walls, her. The yellow-slickered figure gasped and lurched against the heavy table, sending a cascade of bottles flying into the air. They shattered into a hundred tinkling shards as the Magitek scientist tumbled face down on the floor, and with the crash, time seemed to flow normally again. 

"_Cid!_" The scream tore forth from her lungs savagely, and then her legs were pumping and she was at his side. She knelt down beside his stricken form, all thoughts of Almeda and his Falcons gone in the sudden onslaught of terror. 

"Cid!" She tugged on his shoulder and he flopped over, revealing a ghastly wound that stretched diagonally from neck to mid-chest in a ragged red trench. Battlefield experience told her at a glance that the wound was mortal, but she allowed hope to have its way, just this once. As he gasped like a fish and hammered the floor with his fists, she placed her hands against the worst part of the wound and pressed down, trying to stem the vital flow. Blood bubbled up between her fingers, sticky and red. 

_Blood on your hands, Celes. Blood blood blood on your hands._

"Cid, be still! Don't try to move... don't...." He continued his wild thrashing despite her advice, almost as if he were already beyond hearing. But there might be a chance, if only she concentrated enough, if only the magic spell was perfectly crafted... 

Celes closed her eyes and delved down arcane paths, reaching deep and brushing at the icy, throbbing shard of magic buried in her soul. Stolen magic, she now realized. Pure esper essence, drained from a living creature and infused into her so that she might partake of its power. It was not a pleasant revelation, and where once caressing that cold fragment had brought comfort and confidence, it now brought only a stab of guilt and regret. 

_That doesn't matter! As long as it works... please, please let it work..._

She gathered and focused frosty blue strands of power, carefully shaping the cure spell with her mind, imagining the wound beneath her fingers closing, the flesh knitting together again. As soon as that image was crystallized, she pushed it outward, willing her power into the Magitek scientist's body. 

_Come on..._

Nothing happened. 

"No!" She wailed. Intensifying her concentration, she gathered the magic and pushed again. 

Nothing happened. 

This couldn't be happening it had always worked before and why wasn't it working now she couldn't fail it couldn't fail not now not now not now it had to work it had to had to had to had to 

_No! No time for hysterics oh goddesses what's wrong work work work you have to work WORK!_

Nothing happened. 

Cid gave one last groan and then fell silent. His shaking had stopped long before, and his hands now lay still at his side. Blood was beginning to ooze down his chin in thick red runnels. 

"Cid..." 

No answer. 

"Cid, don't do this!" 

No movement. 

"Oh goddesses...." 

No life. 

Nothing. 

Nothing. 

_Nothing._

"I wouldn't bother," Almeda said. "I don't think you'll be spellcasting for some time. Really, I wonder why Gestahl wasted so much time and money on a program that can be countered by simple drugged potions." 

"You bastard," Celes sobbed, looking down at Cid's still form. As she closed the Magitek scientist's eyes, she felt rage stir within her, consuming her sadness and leaving raw anger in its place. Strangely enough, the rage was not hot but cold, like the magic within. She felt as if she were freezing, the blood in her veins riming with frost, the tears on her cheeks crystallizing into shards of ice, her soul bathing in a wintry pond. When she stood and drew her sword, staining the finely crafted hilt with Cid's blood, she half expected to see snowflakes swirling throughout the room. 

"I'm going to kill you," she said, letting the ice in her soul flow from her lips. 

"Celes, please." Almeda spread his arms wide, as if he were trying to placate her. "Hasn't there been enough bloodshed at your hands already today? Are you going to carry on with this mad crusade? Please, don't kill any more innocent Imperials, I beg you." 

The Falcon who had struck down Cid was dead before he knew what had hit him; a single slash with her runic edge opened him from crotch to throat and he fell back in a shower of his own blood, his heels drumming out a crazy beat against the floor. Not bothering to watch him die, she turned and slashed at the next one. Her blade bit deep into his weapon arm and he screamed as his wrist drooped, dangling limply by one thin strand of meat. His sword slid from his fingers, but before the weapon could even hit the floor, the point of her sword pierced his heart. 

She pulled her weapon free and whirled just in time to block a slash from behind. The Falcon grunted and advanced, swinging his broadsword so quickly that she could barely intercept his blows. Dimly, as she struggled to fend off the onslaught, she heard Almeda call out to his men: 

"Alive! I want her alive! Can't you men handle one drunk?" 

As if the word _drunk_ had been a curse, she was suddenly aware of how leaden her limbs felt, how the entire world seemed to be a little out of focus, how the ground seemed to sway slightly under her feet. Celes struggled against the vertigo as best she could, knowing that for Cid's sake, she had to fight on. 

Finally, her opponent made a mistake and overextended himself. Ducking under his clumsy swing, she drove her weapon forward, burying it up to the hilt in his midsection. Blood frothed from his mouth and he went down, but before she could pull her sword from his corpse, disaster struck. 

Pain exploded in the side of her head and glittery bursts of light flared across her vision as the soldier behind her connected solidly with the flat of his blade. Suddenly, she was on her knees, the floor looming only inches away from her face. She lifted her head and tried to get back to her feet, but the world pitched and yawed wildly, growing ever more blurry before her eyes. Then came the boot in her ribs, and the horrible pain like inhaling brimstone. 

She lost her balance and fell on her face, instinctively grabbing her midsection and curling up in the fetal position as more blows rained down upon her. Almeda was still talking, and his voice lingered in her brain even as the knockout blow slammed into the back of her skull. 

"Careful with the face, men. She has to look nice for her public execution." 

___________________________________________________ 

It wasn't quite their last resort, but it was close. 

Trivette's bar was scarcely deserving of the name. It festered in the basement of a rather rickety building bordering the Mythril district, a rough place that served rough men rough ale and looked the part. The floor was hard-packed earth, the tables and chairs crude and poorly made, and the bar itself nothing more than a long plank laid atop a row of old ale barrels. The meager light that beamed in from the narrow windows near the ceiling mercifully left the floor, the patrons, and the barmaids in deep shadow. The very thought of the things that might be crawling about in the darkness was enough to make a man shudder, but getting a good look at them would be even worse. 

_I can't believe this dump is actually part of my kingdom..._

Edgar Figaro sat at one of the small tables, wrinkling his nose in distaste at the mixed aroma of sweat and cheap alcohol that permeated the room and trying to look as inconspicuous as possible. Across the stained and pitted tabletop, Cyan wore a similar expression of disgust. The samurai's eyes, however, were adamantine-hard as they surveyed the dim expanse of the bar. 

"Try not to look around so much," Edgar said in a low voice. "The last thing we need to do here is draw any attention to ourselves." 

Doing so would turn an already bad situation deadly. They were, after all, lying in a nest of vipers, and the slightest twitch could incite an attack. 

_Vipers indeed,_ The young king thought, anger filling him at the thought. Trivette's bar might be an inexcusable dump, but damn it, it was _Figaro's_ dump, and its current patrons just didn't belong. 

At nearly every table, stretching from one end of the darkened bar to the other, were Imperials. Their faces were pale ghosts in the dim light, floating above dark uniforms that were nearly invisible. Many were shouting and yelling, banging their ale mugs against the tables and calling for the barmaids. Others, already soused, slumped across tables or simply laid motionless on the floor. 

It looked, in other words, like any of a dozen other bars he had seen in Imperial occupied territory, but yet... 

_Something's different... what... something..._

The thought escaped him as he glanced at the bar. Locke leaned easily against the splintered surface, apparently still engaged in conversation with Trivette, the bartender. If the way the fat man sweated and fretted behind the bar was any indication, his nerves were worn to the nub, but at least he was still breathing. He was, in fact, the only living Returner they had seen all day. That had to say something about his knack for surviving. 

"These'rr on the house," a gravelly voice from behind him said, and he turned to see a serving girl standing there with three mugs of ale. Well... perhaps the term "girl" was stretching it a bit, given her rough voice and crudely shaped features, but the massive bosom that jutted out like the prow of a ship from her torso definitely marked her as a female. "Master Trivette extends his welcome to ya." 

"Greetings, miss. How are you tod-" 

Paying no attention to him, she dropped the tray unceremoniously on the table, jostling the cups and splashing a bit of ale across the already stained surface. Then she turned with a grunt and was gone in a rustle of cotton skirts. 

"That wasn't very polite," he said to no one in particular. He was accustomed to girls staying to chat for some time, to their shy giggles, and blushes, and coy flirting. It was the rare woman that could resist Edgar Figaro, and yet he seemed to have found her. 

_Oh, like you'd even want her attention anyway, Edgar,_ he chided himself. _You really_ are _full of yourself. Besides, right now you're just Gerad, the simple Nikeah merchant...._

He nudged the pack resting below the table with his foot to assure himself it was still there, smiling as the materials within clanked together. He might look like the average merchant, but his cargo was far from typical. He only hoped they wouldn't need to use it. He wasn't even sure it would work. 

Locke was returning now, weaving his way through the crowd of drunken Imperials with care. He dropped into the table's third misshapen seat, a grin stretching from ear to ear. 

"I think we've found what we're looking for. Trivette couldn't talk much now, of course, but at least he's still alive. He's supposed to send word in a minute." 

Edgar glanced back towards the bar just in time to see the fat man's back vanish through a small door set into the wall behind the ramshackle structure. Two or three barmaids followed him, looking back over their shoulders anxiously. Almost before he was aware of it, a stab of fear shot through Edgar and beads of sweat broke out all over his body. Something wasn't right. 

_What's going on here?_

Locke and Cyan, both sitting with their backs to the bar, had failed to notice the sudden rush of activity. Lifting one of the ale mugs to his lips, Locke took a sip, only to spit the drink back with a look of disgust a few seconds later. 

"Ugh," he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. "This stuff could strip the paint off a bulkhead. I don't know how these Imperials can stomach enough to actually get drunk." 

_That's it! _

When he had previously surveyed the dank room, he had noticed something out of place, but hadn't quite been able to identify it. Now, it was as if Locke's words had tripped some switch in his brain, cutting through the darkness and bathing the truth in grim, bleak light: 

He had not seen any of the Imperials in the room had taken a drink, despite the proliferation of mugs throughout the tables. In fact, now that he looked closer, most of them were looking around much more alertly than any drunk should be able to. Even some of the bodies on the floor were shifting and rising - slowly, to be sure, but with an unmistakable smoothness. The barmaids and Trivette were long gone, and now there was no one in the room but the Imperials and the three of them. Even as he watched, too shocked and frozen with horror to speak, the brown tide began to shift, getting up from their tables, easing in front of the doors at either end of the room, cutting off all avenues of escape. 

Forcing himself to remain calm, Edgar reached down into his merchant's pack and began to hastily assemble the parts within, his engineer's fingers nimble on cool metal even when working blind. He continued to look straight ahead, trying as hard as he could not to let his anxiety show on his face. If only they would hold off for a few more seconds... 

"We've been had," he whispered as two of the parts joined with a muted _click_. Even as his hand groped madly for the third, he kept his voice low and even. "Our fault." 

"What?" Locke asked in the same harsh whisper. He kept the grin on his face with some effort. 

"How does a spider catch a fly, Locke? We've walked right into the web." 

Locke glanced casually over his shoulder at the now-vacant bar, then turned back and swore. The words coming from his mouth jarred heavily with his plastic grin. "Goddesses damn you, Trivette! There's no telling how many others fell into this trap." 

"The Imperials are in here with us," Cyan said quietly. "Perhaps it is they who are trapped." 

"That's the spirit," Edgar said, his grin almost genuine now as he snapped the last piece onto the metal device in his hand. All that was left was the bulb, the _only_ bulb; he fumbled for the glass orb and attached it to the rest of the device with three sharp twists, sending up a quick prayer of thanks that it hadn't broken in transit. "Now..." 

_This will be close,_ his mind told him flatly. 

Close, but it could be done. He knew for a fact both he and Locke had survived tight situations before, and this Cyan certainly looked capable of pulling his own weight. If they worked together, moved fast enough, hit hard enough, they might yet escape. 

The Imperials continued to close in, their measured movements clear to him now that he was truly paying attention. They formed up slowly and inexorably, tightening into a ragged circle with the table in the center. Swords and autocrossbows moved from belt to hand degree by agonizing degree, and it would only be seconds before one of the Imperials called out for them to surrender if they were lucky or for his men to kill them if they were not. 

Not that either was going to happen, if they could help it. 

"Okay," he said, licking his lips nervously. "On three, both of you get down and _cover your eyes._ It's about to get very bright in here, and if you want to make sure you go on seeing, you'll be careful." 

"One..." The Imperials were closer now, close enough for him to make out their expressions even in the dim light of the bar. Their faces displayed a bevy of emotions: anticipation, anxiety, blank determination, anger, but definitely _not_ drunkenness. These men, whatever else they might be, were alert. Ready to kill. 

"Two..." The footsteps of the ones behind sounded loud in his ear, and a part of him expected to feel hot breath on the back of his neck and steel at his throat at any moment. Staying the trembling of his fingers, he began to pull the device from the bag at his feet. It had never been tested, but he did not allow himself to think of what would happen to them if it did not work. 

"Three!" 

Edgar kicked the bottom of the table, upending it with a crash as Locke and Cyan each dove to one side, wrapping their arms around their heads and rolling as they struck the floor. The young king leapt to his feet, tearing the device from the bag in one smooth motion, his hands already flying over the controls. A beam of sunlight from the one of the high windows caught the device and danced across its surface, enveloping the dull grey metal in a brilliant aura of light. For just a moment, the boxy little tool looked like jewelry fit for the goddesses' own hands. 

_Machinery is a beautiful thing_, Edgar thought. And then, just as the Imperials began to give their first alarmed shouts, he pressed the firing button, turned away, and clamped his hand over his eyes. 

The prototype he held had been named the Flash. It looked a simple enough thing, resembling nothing so much as one of the common picture cameras the people of Figaro had been making and selling for decades. However, where other cameras held photography plates in their steel guts, the Flash housed batteries of enormous charge and power, all of them wired to the single massive flashbulb mounted on the front of the device. When the Flash was fired, was supposed to throw out a wide, powerful blast of light, enough to dazzle a man if it glanced him and perhaps fry his retinas if it struck him directly. 

However, no matter how much the engineers had talked about the effect when he took the prototype from Figaro, no matter how much he had personally tinkered with the device during the boring days of chocobo riding, no matter how many times he had wondered if he should fire it and waste the only bulb the engineers had prepared, nothing could have prepared him for what happened when the Flash went off. 

_Whiteout._

A second sun bloomed in the murky confines of Trivette's bar, carving away the darkness and sending the shadows scurrying for cover. The light stabbed at Edgar's face through the gaps in his fingers and flared across the back of his eyelids. Still, he had gotten off lightly; many of the Imperials were already beginning to scream as their vision burned away. 

The bulb mounted on the front of the Flash gave a little pop and died, and the light vanished. The shadows rushed back in to claim their territory with a vengeance. 

"Move! Move!" Edgar screamed, blinking furiously to restore his dazzled vision. Spots danced before his eyes as he swept his head back and forth, trying to make out what was going on in the sudden gloom. 

A few of the Imperials behind them had been spared the worst of the Flash's effects and were already moving in to attack, albeit less than gracefully. As the first ran in, Edgar twisted to avoid a clumsy slash and then pivoted, raised the Flash high in both hands, and smashed it down savagely upon his assailant. The tool literally _exploded_, breaking into a thousand tiny shards as it impacted on the side of the soldier's head. The Imperial didn't even have time to scream; the concussion caved in his skull with a bone-breaking crack, killing him instantly. He stumbled, then dropped soundlessly to the floor in a rain of bone fragments, wires, and hex nuts. Edgar scarcely noticed, having already turned to take on the next opponent. 

If the soldier had been only a split second faster, his thrust would have taken Edgar directly in the heart, but luck was with the young king. He managed to slip to the left at the last possible moment, causing the tip of the short spear to rip through tunic instead of flesh. As the Imperial stumbled, still off balance from the momentum of the stab, Edgar jumped towards him. 

_I hope this works..._

Simultaneously, Edgar struck out with both hands, his right smashing down onto the spear right below the blade, his left wrenching upwards near the butt. The result was everything he could've hoped for. The spearhead dipped low towards the floor even as the butt leapt up from the Imperial's grasp like a living thing, smashing the man directly in the face. Edgar tore the weapon free and spun it in his grasp as the man reeled back, blood fountaining from his broken nose. The soldier fumbled for his sword, but before he could draw it, Edgar drove the spear into his chest, impaling him. The Imperial stopped and looked down at his wound for a moment, his face registering only shock, and then he groaned and crumpled to the floor. 

Locke and Cyan were fighting furiously as well, slashing away at the hordes of Imperials that were now encroaching on all sides. The treasure hunter fought with a dirk in each hand, ducking, dodging, and stabbing at vital weak points like a man gone insane. Imperials closed to do combat with him and went into the shredder, dying with hearts pierced, windpipes slashed, bellies torn open. The samurai battled alone, his katana flashing in the meager light, a steel serpent with deadly venom and lethal accuracy. Before him, the massed Imperials fell like ragged brown wheat under the scythe. 

Edgar backpedaled as three more Imperials staggered towards him, striking out with their swords and missing by bare inches. The bastards were everywhere, surrounding them, threatening to overwhelm them with sheer numbers at any moment. If most of their opponents had not been dazzled by the light, they would be dead already, but even the sheer number of their enemies gave an odd measure of protection; those few Imperials who could see to fire their autocrossbows in the wake of the Flash's outburst were unable to do so without risking hitting their tightly-packed allies. 

Of course, Edgar reflected, the three Returners had no such problem. Even as the thought flashed through his mind, his hands were already moving, darting within his tunic to grasp the two slim pieces of metal nestled against his stomach. He tore them free in a twin flash of metal, brandishing one in each hand and waving them mockingly at the advancing Imperials. The soldiers hardly reacted at all until he gave each device a single sharp shake and their lightweight components unfolded with a series of loud _clacks_, transforming them into a pair of small autocrossbows. 

Edgar could not help smiling in satisfaction as the Imperials began to back away. These Hornet autocrossbows were the latest collapsible models from Figaro, made for concealment and close combat. Lightweight, large clip, fantastic rate of fire, decent accuracy - just the thing, in other words, for clearing out an Imperial horde. 

As he squeezed the triggers, the twin terrors blazed up with a surprisingly throaty chockchockchock, spitting dozens of small, high-speed bolts into the air. The foremost of the Imperials withered beneath the fatal onslaught, jerking backwards in a spasmodic dance as the deadly projectiles tore through flesh and bone. Edgar swept each arm out and then back in, firing all the while, raking the enemy lines with bolts and reducing men to bloody ruin. 

The trio fought on with manic determination, their enemies falling all around them, but it was not enough. For every Imperial that went down, three more moved in to replace him. Small injuries and fatigue were taking their toll, slowing movements, dulling reflexes. And, perhaps most damning of all, the Imperials were getting more and more accurate as they at last began to recover from the effects of the Flash. Things were about to go very, very bad. Unless... 

"We've got to get out of here!" He shouted to the others. His arms were beginning to _hurt_ now, his muscles burning with exertion as he tried to keep the autocrossbow barrels level in spite of the recoil. "The door behind the bar! Move!" 

Locke and Cyan took the lead, tearing viciously into the men between them and the bar like carnivores falling upon meat, forging a bloody path with sweat and steel. The Imperials fell back on all sides, dying before the grim rush in appalling numbers. As his friends continued to wade through the masses, Edgar brought up the rear, firing frantically away at anyone who tried to outflank them. 

Afterwards, Edgar would never truly be able to recall that nightmare passage across the room. Individual moments were lost as screaming, running, bleeding and _killing_ all blended into one ragged red tapestry of chaos. During the melee, he somehow lost one of his Hornets and gained a number of wounds: a light but bloody gash above his left eye, a nick on the underside of his left hand, a light cut below the ribs. His memory would never piece together how the events unfolded; all coherent thought fled in a moment woven of pure, brutal instinct, devoid of mercy or humanity, full of madness and death. It seemed as if it would never end. 

And then, somehow, the bar was before them. Locke vaulted over and slammed his shoulder into the narrow door behind, only to rebound from the oaken surface and crash to the floor. He immediately rose and threw himself against the door again, this time with the assistance of the samurai, but still it would not budge. 

"It's barred from the other side!" Locke announced as he staggered back to his feet. The treasure hunter looked as bad as Edgar felt, his entire form covered in blood and minor wounds. He had apparently lost both his dirks somewhere along the way. 

"Fantastic," Edgar said, squeezing off the last few shots in his weapon's clip and fumbling for another. He slammed a fresh magazine in and resumed firing on the Imperials, who were now falling back to the far side of the room en masse. "Any... other... bright... ideas?" 

"Get down!" Locke shouted as a pair of autocrossbow bolts embedded themselves in the door beside his head. 

The three Returners dove for the floor just as the Imperials on the far side of the room opened fire, their weapons chattering like a horde of scolding demons. Edgar and Cyan dropped and rolled behind the bar in an attempt to avoid the deadly steel rain as Locke tumbled in the opposite direction. 

Edgar rolled to a stop and dropped to his belly, swiveling his head back and forth and trying to make some sense out of the chaos. The Imperials were tearing the place apart. A shower of alcohol and glass shards fell all about him as salvo after salvo tore into the shelves above and behind the bar, shattering dozens of bottles per second. Solid _thunks_ sounded as the bolts struck home on the other side of the makeshift bar, some penetrating almost all the way through the old ale barrels. The stout wooden structures splintered and groaned, their contents spilling and puddling on the earthen floor like blood. 

"This is not good!" Cyan shouted over the din. The samurai was pressed almost flat against the floor, his hair dripping with spilled alcohol, broken glass piled up all around him. 

"Where's Locke?" Edgar pushed himself to his hands and knees, trying not to flinch at the glass that cut into his palms. A bottle crashed against the floor in front of him, splashing his face with liquor. 

"I do not know-" the samurai began, but even as he spoke Edgar spotted the treasure hunter. Locke was hiding behind an overturned table that was almost directly flush with the bar and perhaps a dozen feet away. Several bolts had impacted on the table, a few even protruding through the near side, but fortunately Locke did not seem to have been hit yet. Even though he wasn't able to return fire, he was still busily reloading. 

Suddenly, mercifully, the firing trailed off. And then, Edgar heard a demand in the haughty tones of an Imperial Officer: 

"Surrender or die like the worms you are, Returner scum." 

"What guarantee do we have you'll keep your word?" Edgar called back. 

Cyan's eyes narrowed in response. "None," he whispered, his voice grim. "The Imperials cannot be trusted." 

"Our orders are to bring in any Returners alive, if possible," the Imperial answered. "You're far more useful to the Empire alive than dead, at least for now." 

Edgar grimaced, reading the intent behind those words. They would be interrogated, probably forced to reveal the location of every Returner hideout they knew, perhaps even Returner HQ. That could not be allowed to happen. He had no desire to die here, but if it was that or betray the cause... 

He shot a quick, questioning glance at Locke. The treasure hunter looked worried for only a second before he mouthed, _Do it._

"What?" Edgar hissed, not quite believing his eyes. 

Again, a short, silent phrase: _Trust me._

"You've already killed enough of my men for me to want you dead, Returners," the voice said. "Surrender now or I might forget my orders." 

_You better be right about this, Locke_. 

With a quick gesture to Cyan, Edgar dropped his weapon and rose. 

"Fine." He hesitantly raised his hands over his head, wondering if he was about to be cut down by Imperial fire like a cornered choco. "We surrender." 

Locke rose next, followed a moment after by the samurai, who looked none too happy about this latest development. It was probably some sort of violation of Cyan's honor code to be taken prisoner this way. Then again, Edgar thought, it would be a violation of his own if he was forced to give out Returner secrets in exchange for his life. He could only hope Locke was truly hatching a plan to get them out of this without causing further damage to his people or their allies. 

"Very good," The commander smiled, his face pale in the dim light. He gestured briskly to a pair of men standing behind him. "Norris, Gage. Chain them." 

______________________________________________________________ 

_More often than not, men see only what they want to see._

Her husband had taught her that long ago, when they were still newlyweds, and in all their years of marriage she had never seen it proven wrong. When they looked at her, men saw only what they wanted to see: a woman of medium stature and weight, her once brown hair consumed by gray, only a few wisps of beauty still adhering stubbornly to her aging form. This impression did not bother her. Rather, she was comforted by the fact that she could so fool the outside world into thinking her nothing but a harmless old woman, for the harmless can see things that the brave cannot. 

And see she did. Her husband had taught her how to do that, too. It had taken some time, of course, but by the time their son was born, she could pick out things in the world around her with alarming clarity. While the world saw only what she allowed it to see of her, she gazed into the very depths of its soul and found the answers. 

She sat in her favorite rocking chair, listened to her favorite old record, stroked her favorite cat, and watched the world go by below her window. 

She _saw_. 

The Imperials walking down in the street looked tired and nervous. She could tell that by their mannerisms alone - the almost imperceptible shaking, the plastic expressions of confidence, the way they kept looking around nervously. Their laughter was too loud, too manic. Many of them were nursing wounds or blinking their eyes furiously. Despite all these things, however, the Imperials weren't that interesting at all. It was the three men chained in the center of their unit that really drew her attention. They were dressed as Nikeah merchants, but a single glance was enough to tell her that was only the thinnest of disguises. 

She knew the first, though she wasn't sure how well he really knew her. Locke, they called him, but whether that was his real name or not she could not say. She had seen him many times, in many different places in the city. He was a thief and a sneak, but he seemed to be a decent enough sort. She would guess he was working with the Returners, and he knew the ins and outs of this city as well as any man, almost as well as her. 

The second she did not recognize personally. His bearing marked him as a fighter, though, and she thought she recognized the distinctive features of a Doman samurai in his expression and mannerisms. 

And the third- the third.... 

For a moment, he gave her pause, and then she realized that she was looking upon her king. Oh, he had put a bit of effort into disguising himself, but the bone structure and those eyes were unmistakable, especially since she had looked upon a younger copy of them for many years. Apparently, however, the Imperials did not realize the importance of the prize they held, for they treated him no different than the others. 

Like his companions, Edgar was covered in light wounds and blood, but none of them seemed to be hurt seriously. That suggested that they had surrendered instead of being subdued forcefully. Not that how they had been captured mattered right now. 

As the group continued to walk down the street, now out of her line of sight, the woman shooed the yellow cat off her lap and stood up. Heaving a sigh, she walked out of the sitting room and down the hall. Her husband would definitely need to know about this. Time was of the essence. Once the Imperials knew what they had found, there was no telling what they might do to Figaro or its king. Without a leader, they would never be able to throw off the Imperial yoke. 

The pigeons cooed in greeting as she stepped up into the attic, causing her to grimace in distaste. They were filthy things, and she was tired of cleaning the floor under their cage, but they did have their uses. 

Ten minutes later, three birds were winging their way over the roofs of South Figaro, bound northeast with a vital message of warning. 

She only hoped it would reach Duncan in time. 

Time for the now ubiquitous end-of-chapter author's notes: 

Another chapter is finished. Another is in the works. Writing these isn't easy for me, but I'm not giving up. If you're enjoying this story, I urge you to hang in here with me. 

This chapter was completed some time ago, but I decided not to post it in the wake of the disastrous bombing of the World Trade Center in New York. While fake violence might be entertaining, real violence is sickening. It didn't feel right to me to write about either, and so the posting of the chapter was delayed. 

Now that some time has passed and we've all begun to heal, however, I feel that posting this is okay. Just so you know, no Imperials were harmed in the writing of this chapter. I love those brown-garbed little rascals, no matter what evil cause they might serve. 

God bless America. 

**Next Chapter:** _What happens when you mix a thief, an Imperial general, and a martial arts master? You'll soon find out! Be here for "Jailbreak", the next chapter in the exciting saga of Dark Empress! **/Robotech Announcer.**_


	9. Final Chapter and Summary

DK sighed and wrote desperately at his computer, trying to get the ideas to come.  Locke stood behind him, smoking a hookah and shaking his head.

"You silly bastard," the treasure hunter said. "First off, I'd never talk like this, secondly, you're not supposed to insert yourself into your own story.  You have a lot of faithful readers and you're turning this whole thing into a farce."

No I'm not, I'm just trying to put some narrative on here so this chapter fits in the FF.Net fiction rules, you know.  It's only covering my bases.

"Ah, I see." Locke said.  Then he ran and punched a moogle and the moogle fell down and then got up and ran OMG.

Now, seriously, I think I have a bit of explanation to do.

First, I always intended to finish this story.  Never would have started it if I hadn't, but  somewhere along the way, I lost it.  It's not that I think my ideas of what was to happen don't have merit, or aren't somewhat interesting, but they just don't grasp me anymore.  After a long period in my life where I was unable to work on this and burdened with outside concerns, I found myself feeling, well, like a different person.  And a person who, for one reason or another, wasn't in touch with this story on a visceral level anymore.  I knew what was going to happen, as I have for a long time.  The only matter was writing it, and I simply couldn't.  The story, I think, would have turned out far worse if I had decided to force things when the spark just wasn't there.  I don't excuse my not finishing this, and I hate to leave the loyal fans of the story hanging (I'm sure some of you are still out there somewhere).  I expected I'd just let the story slowly fade out of my memory, but that isn't right.

So, to prove to you that I actually did know what was going to happen, I'm going to give you a narrative summary of how everything was going to turn out.  Right here, right now.  Yep.  It's not great prose, but it is prose, and it'll fill you in on the total plot.

Again, I apologize.  This certainly has taught me never to post something before it's completed, since I don't ever want to leave my faithful readers in a spot like this again.  This summary isn't as much as you deserve for reading, and sticking with the story, but at least it's something.  And so, let us take things up with Edgar, Locke, and Cyan, languishing in that cell of theirs in South Figaro…

Cyan, Locke, and Edgar escaped from Figaro Prison due to a crafty scheme of Locke's - before they were captured, he swallowed a small lockpick which he regurgitated in captivity (ewww).  As they left their cell, they ran smack into Sabin and Duncan.  Brotherly discussions were put off for the moment in the hurry to escape (As for Vargas, he had, unfortunately, already left home in a rebellious huff).  Along the way, they found Celes being tortured and saved her.  She accompanied them through the warren of tunnels underneath Figaro as they were pursued by the Empire's magically enhanced dobermans.  Before they could completely escape, they encountered the Empire's new superweapon, the TunnelArmor, and destroyed it in a difficult battle.  Celes, her magic finally returning, proved to be a great asset, and she was accepted into the group despite Cyan's intense reservations.  The group decided to head over the Sabil Mountains to Returner HQ.

Meanwhile, in Thamasa, the mages sensed the intense magical waves of energy released by Terra's contact with the statue.  Strago volunteered to investigate, and the other mages constructed a teleportation circle which would take him to the source of the initial disturbance.  Relm ran into the circle at the last minute and was inadvertantly carried along with him.

But Terra had already left Returner HQ and taken the most important part of the statue, its central red orb, with her.  She returned to Vector and planted the orb in the Magic-rich ruins of the Magitek Research Center, where it sprouted tentacles that tunneled into the magic storage vaults and began to drain them dry.  The orb began to gain mass magically, growing more tentacles that wound round and around each other, forming a great organic tower nearly a mile tall.  At the base of the tower, among sinuous rootlike growths, were empty cocoon pods.  And so Terra knew at last the mysterious power of the statue.  It was the Malk, the tool which the goddesses had first used to create the Espers from  humans.  She rounded up the few humans still lurking around in Vector and tossed them into the cocoons.

Cyan, Locke, Edgar, Sabin, and Celes continued their journey to Returner HQ, leaving Duncan at his cabin.  Along the journey, Locke and Celes began to grow closer and revealed a few things about themselves.  Edgar and Sabin did not exactly bury the hatchet, but also shared a bit of discussion.

The gang arrived to find Returner HQ completely demolished.  Banon and a handful of the Returners still lived, but they would have to abandon the area entirely.  Imperial Spotters had already seen the massive fires from the air and ground forces would be arriving shortly.  There was, at least, some clue as to what had happened.  Strago and Relm had arrived out of nowhere and nearly been gunned down, but cooler heads had managed to prevail.  A dying Esper named Maduin was found nearby and he inadvertantly explained some things in the midst of his fatal delerium.  The Returners now knew where Terra had come from and that the Empire had both produced her and fallen into ruin by her hand.  Things got even worse when Strago saw sketches of the stolen statue and recognized it for what it was.  It was decided that an expedition to the Southern Continent would have to be mounted immediately.

First, however, there was the small matter of escaping the Imperials.  The only way was for the remaining Returners to head down the River Lete.  Along the way, they woke a strange, ancient being from his slumber.  Ultros attacked, destroying most of the rafts and killing dozens.  In the battle, Edgar managed to fire up his newly engineered Drill and shove it into Ultros' eye, but the beast swatted him away.  Locke ran up to grab the still embedded drill and cruelly shoved it onward through bone and brain.  Ultros retreated to the riverbed, spraying ink, but Locke grimly fought on underwater until the creature died.  Celes then saved Locke from drowning, returning the favor he had paid her earlier.  During the battle, Cyan also saved Relm from drowning, forging the beginning of a closer relationship between the two (EW, NOT LIKE THAT, GUYS).

A new day was dawning in Maranda, which had successfully overthrown the few straggling Imperials left in their town and spent the night before wildly celebrating their independence.  The morning was disturbed by the arrival of Terra and a flock of monsters, which quickly swooped down, laying waste to the town and taking its people captive to fill the cocoons in Vector.  If anyone's interested, this was a Lola POV chapter, and I had sort of toyed around with having her boyfriend (the deserting Imperial soldier mentioned in Leo's first POV chapter) encountering her Esperized form, but I don't know if that ever would've really happened.

The gang made it to Narshe more or less intact and left Relm and the Returners there.  Rumors had said that an airship still flew out of Jidoor sometimes, so the group set out for Figaro castle.  Before they left, Cyan and Relm had yet another talk about what happened to his family and her own.  A quick jaunt to Figaro and under the mountains, and the story moved on.

The group stopped in Kohlingen for supplies and the townspeople spat in Locke's general direction.  It was revealed that Locke got Rachel to join the Returners and she was killed in one of their operations. (Honestly, the phoenix shard/amnesia/comatose body in a cellar was just too weird a plot to work with.  The really mischevious part of me simply wanted to leave Rachel alive and a member of the Returners, but one that had no interest in Locke anymore.  It might've been an interesting change, I suppose. Anyway, onward.)  These revelations of course made Celes more sympathetic to him and they drew yet closer.

Albrook fell victim to Terra's wrath, but she did lose some of her forces in the process.  She came to realize that the process of Esper creation was imperfect and unreliable; twice as many died in the cocoons as gained new life, and lacking the pure power of the goddesses, her creations were somewhat deformed and stunted.  Still, her "Esperoids" were powerful, and they were growing exponentially as she continued to convert entire towns.

In Jidoor, Daryl was drinking and thinking, of course, of Setzer.  It was the anniversary of the airship crash that both took his life and destroyed both their airships.  Her melancholy mood was spoiled by an attack on Jidoor by the residents of Zozo, who had of late grown far more militant under a new leader.  There was a battle with much carnage and ultra-violence, and Daryl was taken captive along with many of the town's other women.  The men were strung up on the eaves of their own palatial estates.

The intrepid party arrived in Jidoor to find the place devastated and Daryl missing.  They pursued her attackers to Zozo, where they were set upon by various bizarre hoodlums and taken captive.  While in captivity, Sabin learned that Zozo had a new, aggressive leader who had seized control of all the warring gangs by beating all the leaders in single combat.  He challenged this King of Blood to a duel and in the course of the battle he discovered that his opponent was  Vargas.  The other man refused to surrender and Sabin was forced to kill him, making him the de facto ruler of Zozo.  Sabin, never one to relish authority, demanded the release of the prisoners from Jidoor and then walked away from his new responsibility.

Daryl agreed to take the party to the Southern Continent in exchange for some dough, and they set off for the tomb where she had interred Setzer's airship, which she had restored after his death.  The party boarded the airship and departed for the Southern Continent, with the exception of Edgar, who returned to Figaro to rally his people. On the way there, they stumbled upon a horde of Terra's Esperoids attacking the Jidoor Opera House and a short, violent battle ensued before the creatures were driven off.  The airship continued on its way.

Meanwhile, a massive number of Esperoids attacked South Figaro, but the Imperial Occupation Forces there held strong, their Magitek weapons allowing them to inflict vicious casualties on the monstrous creatures.

The airship arrived at Vector and Terra's tower, where Terra pounced upon them immediately.  Terra proved to be far too much for the party and in the resulting battle Strago was (seemingly) killed, Locke and Celes were separated from the others, and the airship only barely escaped and headed back for the Northern Continent.  Locke and Celes were believed dead.

Boaz Almeda and the Imperial Occupation forces made overtures of peace to the powers of the Northern Continent, and an emergency peace conference was called at Narshe so that the surviving human city-states could consider a coordinated response to Terra and the Esper threat.  

In the meantime, Locke and Celes found themselves alone in the hellish, monster-haunted ruins of Vector with no one to depend on but each other.  They faced an arduous trek out of the city and across the barren, blasted plains around it.  They only grew closer as they took cover from Terra's horrible creations, and their relationship was finally consummated in the most unromantic setting of some wild creature's abandoned cave.  In the course of this journey, Celes comes to realize that she no longer needs drink to cope, that she can manage by herself, that she is a strong person, and that the past is the past.  Complete redemption may be impossible, but she can at least try, can at least love.

Almeda was not playing things entirely straight - while he realized that the Imperials would need the help of the Northern Powers to survive, he did not intend to negotiate from a position of weakness.  Therefore, he requested that Shadow (dun dun dunnn) assassinate King Edgar Figaro, head of the most powerful nation on the Northern Continent, during the negotiations.

The airship arrived in Narshe and the party shared the sad news with the members there.  Edgar was upset over the loss of his old friend Locke, and Relm nearly inconsolable at Strago's death.  Cyan, who broke the news to her, was perhaps the only other person in the party that could understand the pain of losing everyone near and dear - when Relm, nearly crazed with hysteria, claimed that there was no one left in the world who cared about her, he told her that he did. (awwwww)  Edgar paid Daryl and told her her part in this was over, but she told him she wanted to stay on, that it was good to have a purpose in life and a meaning to other people again, even if she was just a glorified chauffer.  Edgar told her she was more than that. (I considered really working a romance angle with these two, as it seems like their personalities would fit pretty well (granted, we only see a little of Daryl's). I wasn't sure if I wanted to go with it or not, but as I'm being complete here, I'll leave the moments with them in this summary).

As for Terra, she had been saving her powers for weeks in order to "reach beyond" and break the ancient Seals.  At the end of the chapter she did so, releasing the Dragons, Doom Gaze, Phunbaba, and Atma Weapon into the World of Balance - and under her control.

Celes and Locke, reeling from days without rest or nourishment, stumbled upon a patrol of men in Magitek suits and were taken into custody.  They were brought to the Imperial Encampment on the eastern end of the Southern Continent.  There, they met General Leo (bet you were wondering where he went!), who filled them in on the situation.  He and his men had arrived to find Vector in ruins and had immediately set out for Albrook.  By the time they arrived there, however, the town had been laid to waste and their Magitek machines had been breaking down.  They retreated to the Eastern Base and had since been holding fast there while making periodic patrols to gather supplies and refugees.  Leo also revealed that he and the rest had been in contact with the Espers behind the Sealed Gate, who, warned by the other Espers that escaped the research center with Maduin, were expending every ounce of their power in keeping the gate's magic resonance shielded from Terra.  While she must know dimly about the Esper world, she had killed everyone that knew its location.  As long as they kept it shielded, she would never be able to find it... or the Goddess statues within, which truly would give her the power to destroy the world.

...except there was Strago, who knew the old stories.  Who knew of the gate.  And he was not dead.  Instead, he lay in one of Terra's esper cocoons, maturing into one of her creatures...

Negotiations at Narshe began.  In attendance were the Imperial Expeditionary Force, Edgar, representatives from the Miner's Guild of Narshe and from Nikeah, ambassadors from Doma and Jidoor, and even the Elder of Thamasa.  Immediately, friction developed between the Empire and the other parties - Figaro demanded withdrawal from South Figaro, but the Imperials claimed they had no where else to go.  The day was wasted mostly with arguments which I won't bother to go into here.  The interesting events came later that night, when Shadow crept into the manse where Edgar and friends were staying... and bumped right into Cyan.

And so, the rematch that I'd been working up to since chapter four went down.  No bravado, no cursing, no words at all, just two men filled with hatred, fighting to the death in a small, quiet study.  The battle went on for a long time and both opponents did quite a lot of damage to each other, but again, it was Shadow who won, this time through a freak accident - Cyan's sword broke in half at a crucial moment and a kick to the temple felled him.  But then Relm, who had been searching for Cyan and heard the commotion, ran in, taking the blow that was meant to kill him right in the chest.  The shock at what he had done to his own daughter was enough to stun even Shadow, and Cyan had just enough time to hurl the splintered remains of his own sword, taking the assassin right through the eye and killing him.  Cyan felt no joy, however, as he was too concerned over the badly wounded Relm.

Relm was saved by the Thamasa mages on hand, and as she lay recovering the next day, the negotiations continued.  Almeda's trusted subordinate removed him from command, having discovered that he plotted to sabotage the peace talks with assassinations.  Almeda however escaped from custody with the help of his loyal Red Falcons and hijacked some Magitek armor, plotting to tear his way into the peace conference and kill the assembled leaders.  Before he could do so, however, Terra's Esperoids attacked the town.

The resulting chaos saw Narshe guards, Returners, Samurai, Mages, and Imperials taking on the attackers in a battle that raged from the city's gates to the mines themselves, where the moogles, the Whelk, and a certain sasquatch emerged to aid the defenders.  The Esperoids were driven off, and the power they displayed only underlined the need for mankind to join together to defeat them.  During the attack, commander Almeda was wounded and fled into the tunnels… where he met up with a tribe of Tonberries.

The invasion plans were made.  Figaro castle was hastily reinforced and outfitted with a Magitek Cannon by the Imperials.  Armies from Doma, Thamasa, Nikeah, Narshe, and the rest of the surviving towns were gathered and marshaled for the final awesome battle.  During the preparations, Edgar and Sabin spoke of responsibility at last, and Edgar told Sabin that if anything happened to him, Sabin would have to lead the people of Figaro.   Sabin brushed it off.  Edgar also talked with Daryl, and they hinted at the fact that their feelings might run deeper than either admitted.  They decided to wait until after the coming battle to discuss such things.

Even as the invasion force set out for the Southern continent, Terra learned of the existence of the gates and the statues from the newly created Strago-Esper.  As he had previously known magic , he was now the most powerful of Terra's own personal creations (she had harnessed the dragons and other monsters, but they could not be trusted to obey her out of anything other than force).  Leaving Strago in charge of her forces at the tower, she headed out for the Sealed Gate, taking only Atma with her.

At some point in the story, I would've introduced the Espers at the Sealed Gate discussing giving the Atma sword to the humans, who were the only ones who could wield it, so as to not make it  a total Deus Ex Machina.  In any case, sensing the approach of Terra, the Espers did just that.  The weapon attuned itself not to Leo, but to Celes, due to her inherent magical ability.

Terra arrived at the Sealed Gate, tearing through the Imperial Camp in a streak of fire, smashing Magitek suits like cheap toys in her wake.  Leaving Atma to finish the survivors, she went below.  The Espers there, weakened by their efforts to hide the power of the Gate from Terra, were easy prey.  She defeated them and entered the Esper World.

The attack on Terra's tower began with Daryl's airship and the Imperial Air Force sweeping in to confront the flying Esperoids and Doom Gaze.  Magitek armor cut in on the ground from the east and the west, hammering into the main mass of the creatures in twin wedges.  Samurai and mages from Thamasa shored them up, slipping into the holes the Imperials punched in the teeming mass of Esper creatures.  The center of the attacking force appeared in a thunderous earthquake as the towers of Figaro Castle tore through the earth, surfacing on the battlefield.  Its first act was to fire the mammoth Magitek cannon Imperial and Figarian Engineers had installed, incinerating thousands of Esper creatures in one blast and rocking the foundations of the tower itself.  Then the wings of the giant mechanical fortress extended, the main gates thundered open, and hordes of troops rushed forth: Narshe guards, Nikeah merchant-princes, Jidoorian pikemen, Returners, rabble from Zozo and, in the lead, Edgar and the main bulk of Figaro's cavalry.

Meanwhile, Atma was still tearing his way through Leo's troops, reducing the base to ruin.  He was confronted by the general himself, strapped into the prototype suit of Magitek armor that the base housed (I actually foreshadow  this at one point in the existing chapters, believe it or not).  Leo ordered his few surviving men to retreat as he threw himself into the fray.  Atma, for his part, welcomed the challenge, and the ultimate weapon of the old world faced off against the ultimate weapon of the new.

Celes and Locke had been in the Imperial Base when the attack started, but quickly set out after Terra, racing through the perilous Cave to the Sealed Gate and through it into the Esper world.  They arrived at the Goddess Statues just in time to see Terra activate them, wrenching the surrounding spur of land free of the ground and into the air.

Back at the ruins of Vector, all order of the battle had vanished, replaced by a chaos in which it was every man, woman, and creature for themselves.  Spells flew back and forth on both sides, killing man and beast alike.  The Blackjack fought an extended aerial duel with Doom Gaze that ended when the airship's jury-rigged gatling guns shredded the membranous flesh of the creature's wings and sent him crashing to the ground below in tattered ruin.   The Ice Dragon was put down by a joint force of Magitek Armor and Samurai.  Edgar and his chainsaw took care of the Red Dragon in an excessively gory scene.   Scout armor carried the Returner Sappers to the base of the tower in a doomed attempt to bomb it even as hordes of half-formed Esperoids, coaxed out from their cocoons prematurely to do battle, climbed up from the Malk's roots, mewling and rending.  Jidoorians and citizens of Zozo fought side by side to stop the screaming spiderlike creatures surging up Figaro Castle's walls.

Phunbaba gored Edgar, grotesquely impaling him on his shoulder spikes.  Sabin, enraged, leapt into battle and finished the demon, but it was too late for his brother, who implored him to take care of their people even as he apologized for the need to burden him with it.  Edgar died in Sabin's arms, his last words meant for Daryl.  The battle raged on, heedless of this personal tragedy.

Within Figaro Castle, the Magitek Cannon had almost recharged, and the Chancellor ordered it aimed at the center of the massive Malk tower itself.  At the same time, in the central chamber of the tower, Strago drew upon the power of the central orb, charging up its own magical batteries.  The tower's organic tendrils shifted and writhed, unfurling like a grotesque flower, and it spit a lance of red fire at Figaro Castle even as the Magitek Cannon fired in return.

The blast from the Magitek Cannon scythed across the Malk, boiling through thousands of tendrils and sending the upper third of the tower tumbling free to crash into ruin.  Their connection to the central orb severed, the cocoons began to sizzle and wither, inhuman screams welling up from their depths.

The blast from the Malk crashed into Figaro Castle like the fist of a giant, killing everyone inside in an instant, blowing the entire fortress into chunks of steel and stone that crashed to earth as far as a dozen miles away.  

The battle raged on.

As the floating continent rose into the air above them, Leo and Atma squared off, exchanging spells, tekmissiles, and experimental weaponry in a massive brawl.  Leo at last found that he was working towards redemption, fighting an opponent who was literally the embodiment of war, conflict, and suffering.  After a grueling battle, he managed to smash his suit's fist through Atma's teeth and halfway down his throat before unleashing every weapon he had remaining, boiling the creature from the inside out.

Celes confronted Terra and the two fought amongst the statues of the goddesses.  Celes attempted to talk reason to the girl even as they battled, but quickly gave up in the face of such obvious, intense insanity (this would have of course mimicked the final battle with Kefka, with similar sentiments coming out of Terra's mouth).  The odds were evened somewhat as Celes had the Atma Weapon and could use her Runic ability to absorb most of Terra's attacks (yes, I know Runic doesn't work with the Atma Weapon, shhh).  Also, being so close to the goddess statues produced intense fluctuations in the area's magic, increasing her own abilities and throwing off Terra's concentration.  Still, Celes was heavily outmatched and after a long battle, she found herself with a set of painfully broken ribs and a lack of energy.

Locke threw himself in front of her before Terra could strike, catching the Esper by surprise with his boomerang and actually hurting her.  She batted him aside like a flea and set him afire.  Celes found the strength to stagger to her feet and launched herself at Terra, striking the final blow and impaling the Esper.  Terra died quickly, the rage on her alien face lapsing into sadness as she lost her Esper-form.  "It's not fair," she said, and died.

Celes rushed to Locke and held his horribly burned form against her, weeping as the floating continent began to break up and crash to earth.  Desperate, she attempted a healing spell, which actually worked considering she was so close to the statues, the sources of all magic.  Locke began to breathe again, and though his left side was horribly burned and his hair was gone, he managed to crack a smile.  Still, it seemed they would die there until Leo arrived in one of the base's transports and evacuated them.

Back at Vector, Terra's creations all collapsed screaming to the ground, filled with anguish at the loss of their mistress.  They were swiftly eliminated by the surviving human forces.

After the battle, Sabin found Daryl and told her about Edgar.  She told him she should be used to losing people she cared about at this point and just felt numb.  The sun was coming up again on a battle that had raged a full day and a night, and she wondered what the future would bring, and if she wanted to see it.

How Things Ended Up

Terra was defeated, the Malk orb was destroyed,  and the Espers were extinct.  

Locke and Celes were married a year after the horrors of DE.  Aside from a limp and a missing eye, he made it out just fine.

Relm and Cyan lived on as father and daughter, neither of them ever knowing of Shadow's true identity, or caring.

Daryl returned to Jidoor and much of her old way of life, but strangely she felt stronger, toughened by what she'd seen and gone through.

Sabin took over the rule of the kingdom of Figaro.  His first step was to order the reconstruction of Figaro Castle.  As he waited, he daringly moved the temporary government to Zozo instead of South Figaro, dedicated to cleaning the city up, and taking care of his reluctant subjects.  It was a move that he thought Edgar would have approved of.

The Empire, as per the terms in the Treaty of Narshe, left South Figaro and the Northern Continent, reorienting its government in the only surviving city on the Southern Continent, Tzen.  General Leo was appointed its temporary head.

The Second War of the Magi is over.

And yet the world is far from a safe place. The Empire still holds great power and people with the willingness to use it.  Not all will easily accept Leo's leadership.  Many of the world's cities lie in utter ruin.   And on the bottom of the ocean where the floating continent crashed lie the statues of the goddesses, artifacts with the power to destroy the world if wielded by the right hands.


End file.
